


Songs About Me

by BadBitchBeauchamp



Series: Songs About Me [1]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Claire's a gardener in this one, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Karaoke, Music, and she loves to sing, get ready for a lot of feelings, jamie is a puppy around her, just stick with me here, or maybe kind of a lot, the ride get v emotional after the slow burn, there's a wee bit o' angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28829172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadBitchBeauchamp/pseuds/BadBitchBeauchamp
Summary: A modern AU inspired by the song "Drivers License" by Olivia Rodrigo, in which Claire is a singer and Jamie is entranced by her when he meets in her a bar in Boston. Fluff and Angst abound.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Series: Songs About Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113806
Comments: 156
Kudos: 196





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Sooooo this is my first stab at some fan fiction for these absolutely perfect pictures. I'm excited to share it with you! I'm literally writing as I go, so we'll see where the story ends up. Really psyched about this one. I don't have a beta, so any mistakes are mine. Here we gooooooo!
> 
> You can find me over at bad-bitch-beauchamp on Tumblr; I'm really excited for this one, folks.

**CHAPTER ONE**

_Fall, three months ago, a Boston brownstone apartment._

“What do I even wear to something like this? Jeans? A sweater? Fuck, Geillis, I can’t believe you talked me into doing this.” Claire tossed her phone to the middle of the bed. With her hands on her hips, she stood in her closet staring at all the clothes that wouldn’t work for tonight. Things were strewn from the doorway of her bedroom across the floor, up onto the bed, hanging off the dresser from hangers, and into the closet that led to her bathroom. Geillis Duncan, one of Claire’s best friends, had started a tradition of going on Friday nights. Geillis was always the life of the party with her outgoing personality, uncanny ability to read just about anyone, her fiery red hair swinging as she danced regardless of what song was playing. In Geillis, Claire found a soulmate. Someone to dance with, someone to laugh with, someone to drink with, someone to be truly best friends with. Sometimes, though, their ideas of a good time differed. Tonight just happened to be one of those times. 

“Stop thinking sae hard. Maybe after a few drinks, ye’ll have a little more fun, aye?” Geillis responded hopefully through the speakerphone. Having more fun is indeed what she promised herself she would do, so she’d go out with Geillis -- damn her -- and try her best to have a good time tonight. It sounded like a nightmare, but she’d try. She’d try to have fun. Memories of the days when she made that vow to herself came flooding back unbidden, and she sat in the middle of her bedroom floor next to a discarded cardigan as she slipped into an unwanted reverie. 

When Claire left Oxford College five years ago and gave up studying medicine, nearly everyone she knew tried to convince her she was making the biggest mistake of her life. Classmates staged interventions, friends tried to reason with her, and her professors pleaded with her to not waste her talent. No one was quite as _angry_ as her boyfriend at the time. Claire expected frustration, sadness, maybe a little resentment, but never anger. 

* * *

_“I don’t think I can keep doing this, Frank. I really don’t.” Tears pooled in her eyes as she sat slumped on the floor against their bed. Raindrops ran down the windowpanes, thunder cracked the sky._

_“I truly don’t understand how you could be so selfish! You have the talent for the coursework and the money to go here and you’re just, what? Going to through it all away?!” Frank stood across from her, forearm braced on the wall above his head. It was going on two hours since he had looked her in the eye. Claire sniffled in the background. Frank’s fist came to the wall with a sound rivaling the storm raging outside. His storm was not over._

_“Don’t you think I’ve thought this through? I have a plan. I’m going to take the rest of my savings, maybe move back to the states and…” Her voice started to break then. Frank spun around on his heel to finally look at her, to_ really _look at her. His chest was heaving,_

_“And what, Claire? And do what with your life? What about the life we planned together?” He stomped toward her, shaking the floorboards under her body as she clung to her knees. When she looked up, tears starting to fall from her lashes, he dropped to his knees in front of her, grasping for her hands. Claire finally saw more than anger. She finally saw the fear he was trying to reign in but quickly losing control of._

_“I’m figuring it out, Frank. I’ll figure it out._ We _can figure it out. Maybe… maybe I’ll finally open up a greenhouse. You know how much I’ve always wanted to do that. Please, I… I can’t keep going on like this here. I’m so worn down and I can’t -- I know that I can’t -- survive it here another year.” The tears fell. She had been bottling up these thoughts for three years, and couldn’t hold back any longer. “Please, say you understand. Say you love me. Say you support me.” The teardrops turned into rivers. “Say you love me.”_

_For a few moments, Claire wondered if he had heard her pleas through her wrecking sobs. Finally, Frank let out the breath he was holding, letting his shoulders slump. He dropped her hands without ceremony. He ran a hand through his ordinarily perfect hair. He sat back on the floor, one knee bent up and the other outstretched. His arms reached behind him to hold him up. He just, stared at her._

_She was jolted. She had expected outrage. She studied him as best she could through her swollen eyes and water-stained glasses. Everything was silent. The room they had shared for the past three years, was silent. Absently, she noticed the thunder and lightning and pounding rain had stopped, leaving only an occasional trail of water down the old glass windows. With every second the sky turned brighter shades of purple and pink and orange with the impending sunset. On a different day, maybe in a different place, she might have appreciated their beauty. Instead, she noted the silence._

_Looking back at Frank then placing her face in her hands once more, she pleaded one last time: “Please say you love me.”_

_Frank blinked._

_In one swift motion he was off the floor and moving toward her. She heard the old floorboard creak. She felt the air whoosh around the room with his movement. She waited for him to reach her._

_“Claire. Look at me.”_

_Ah. Not moving toward her after all. Standing in the doorway with an air of having concluded a business dealing, Frank was watching her with not a single trace of emotion. Claire’s head rose. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and glanced his way with a smile, until she saw where he stood._

_“I have never been so disappointed in you. Goodbye, Claire.”_

_Frank took a breath and looked her up and down, from wild curls to curled up toes. Claire opened her mouth to speak. Frank closed the door behind him as he left. Everything was silent._

* * *

Claire shook her head, making her curls bounce like springs. Geillis was still talking but hadn’t seemed to notice the lack of responses coming from the other end. Claire pulled herself up and tried to figure out what Geillis had been talking about. 

“... They’re really sweet and kind and they’re really great about buying ye more than a few drinks, plus they’re fellow Scots and just the nicest! I mean, sometimes they’re a little rowdy, ye ken, but I think that’s what ye get when ye go out with Scots --” Geillis was rambling, and Claire didn’t have the foggiest idea who she was referencing. 

“Hold on a sec,” Claire tugged an oversized oxblood sweater over her head. “Okay, fill me in again, please. Who did you invite tonight? I thought this was a girl’s night out after a long week!” She tugged on a pair of black faux-leather leggings, bracing on the dresser for balance and she began to tip over. 

When Claire left Oxford, she moved back to Boston into her uncle’s old brownstone. Although her Uncle Lamb died during her freshman year at school, he had left her a hefty inheritance. Claire and her uncle were each other’s only family and when he died, he left her everything he had. In his will, he left Claire a note that simply read, “These things are only things, my dear. Use them to follow your dreams, however you may see fit. Love you always, Lamb.” Everything he left her gave her a home in the states far away from everything she wanted to leave behind in England, and the means to start her own little greenhouse in a tiny historic shop in Beacon Hill. After her two closes friends from Oxford graduated, they both ended up in Boston with her. Joe Abernathy was going his residency as Mass Gen, and Geillis had come to do the same until she saw Claire’s shop and declared, “Fuck it, this is way more fun.” She helped in the shop with supplying a small zero-waste shopping section for patrons interested in doing more to protect to earth. 

Geillis giggled like a school girl when she started describing the friends she had invited out with them that night. “Weel first there’s Angus. Remember him? I went on a date with him two weeks ago to Seven Ales, ken?” 

“Oof, wasn’t that the one you got blackout drunk with?”

“That’s the one, dearie! And a braw time it was! I mean, I assume it was because I don’t really remember the wee hours of it if I’m being honest.”

“Shocker. Who’s next?” Claire kept Geilliss on speakerphone as she rummaged through a pile of shoes in the corner of the bedroom. 

“Och, that’d be Rupert. I went out a week ago to Cheers and met the guy who made me laugh until I fell off the barstool?” She giggled to herself at the memory. 

“Oh yes, I remember that one. He actually sounded pretty decent.”

“He’s a right sweetheart! Angus is as wheel, just a wee bit more crass, aye?” Claire could practically hear her winking through the phone. 

“Alright, that’s not too bad. I can handle two more besides you and me and Joe. I’m actually getting excited for tonight! This week at the shop has been a lot.”

“Agreed, babe. I’ve got tae go, but I’ll meet ye there? Eight o’clock sharp, I want to get our names put in for karaoke!” 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's karaoke night at the bar, and we get to meet a certain Scot as well!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kind words on the first chapter!!! This is definitely a wild ride since I've never written fiction before. I'm really excited to keep going, and hope you all love the story as much as I do! It's a bit of a slow burn, so buckle up!

**CHAPTER TWO**

_Later that night, Beacon Hill, Boston, 21st Amendment Pub_

“Claire! Over here!” Geillis was sitting at a high top table and stood up on the crossbar of the barstool to wave her over. As she stood up tall with an arm waving over her head, Claire noticed the two men sitting with her glance at her exposed midriff. One oggled her openly, while one looked appreciatively, and smiled down into his beer glass as he took a long drink. _This must be Angus and Rupert, then._ Claire smiled and wound through the crowd to the table. 

“Awright lads, this is my best girl Claire!” Geillis had clearly been here before her eight o’clock sharp deadline, judging by the way her Scots accent had thickened up. 

“Nice to meet you boys! Let me grab a drink and we can get to know each other!” Claire wove her way to the bar, ordered a few fingers of Laphroig whisky, and made her way back to the table. The 21st Amendment was the perfect watering hole for locals looking to enjoy a few bar snacks, and a lot of drinks. It had started to become a staple for their end-of-week blow offs between her and Geillis after a long week at the greenhouse. When he wasn’t stuck at the hospital, Joe often came out to join them, and tonight he had arrived in her absence and took her under his shoulder.

“I need to see you more than once a week! And now you’ve made it so I can only see you if I come to a karaoke bar?! What kind of joke is this, LJ?” 

“Blame our favorite redhead for this ingenious evening!” Claire jerked her head in Geillis direction. They laughed and hugged each other tight, and began to settle in for the evening. 

Aided by more than a few drinks, the four soon became fast friends. Claire came back from the bar for the third time to see Joe clearly entranced by the three Scots and their innate ability to make any story the best you’ve ever heard. 

“So there I am in bed, Chrissie on my left and Nettie, the butcher’s daughter, on the right. They get jealous of each other, start arguin’ about who I’m gonna swive first. Can ye believe it?” Rupert laughed through his oncoming hiccups; whether they was the result of the raucous laughter or the many pints of ale was anyone’s guess. 

“And then what happened, man?!” Joe leaned forward over the table toward Angus, and Angus leaned in towards Joe, slapping his hands on the table. Rupert opened his mouth to respond but before he could get out a single word, Claire quipped in. 

“I believe your left hand gets jealous of your right. That’s about all I believe.” 

For as loud as the pub had become, the little table surrounded with friends fell into an uncertain silence. Claire wondered if she could fit her other foot in her mouth, in addition to the one that was already there. Then… uproarious laughter. 

“I’ve… I’ve never heard a woman make a joke like that before!” Ruper was cackling now. “Christ, woman! Yer somethin’ else!” Angus was doubled over clutching his side, Joe choked on his drink, and Geillis was practically dissolving into laughter. Another voice, a different voice, came floating to her ear from behind on a warm whisper. 

“Yer a witty one, aye?” 

Claire spun around in her barstool, which was admittedly a mistake. _Maybe one too many whiskeys, Beauchamp._ She started to slide off the side backless chair when two hands steadied her by the waist. Once she -- and the room -- stopped spinning and came into focus, all she could see was ocean blue eyes. If her eyes were the color of her favorite burning whisky, his were the color of a cooling chaser. 

“Ye alright, lass?” The stranger smirked. She realized she was still holding on to his shoulders, and still staring into his eyes. She felt the muscles under his white v-neck shirt. _His very tight shirt,_ she amended. His hair sparkled with all the same colors as the dark red trees lining the old brick streets outside -- shades of russet and gold, dark auburn and cinnabar. High cheekbones gave way to slanted eyes above and a jawline to cut her glass tumbler below. _Pull yourself together. He’s just a man, and one you don’t even know!_

“Oh, yeah, thanks, I’m fine, thank you,” she stammered as she climbed back on her chair, his hands never wavering from her hips. _Why did she sound so formal?_ “I mean, I’m great!” She flashed him a big smile and then a thumbs-up. _What the fuck is your problem?!_ _Maybe find a middle ground?_ She sighed on a giggle as her eyes fell to the floor and looked up at him with crinkling eyes. “I’m -- ugh. Hi there, I’m Claire.” His smirk grew, his eyebrow rose. “Thanks for making sure I didn’t die just then,” she added hastily. He was watching her when she dared to glance up from under her lashes. 

The stranger waited until she was settled back on the barstool and went to extend his hand for a handshake, only to find his hands were otherwise occupied. He left them where they were, and settled in a little deeper. 

“Och, it’d be a right shame to lose ye to a swivelin’ stool and a dirty pub floor.” The smirk turned into an honest smile. “I’m James Fraser. Ye can call me Jamie, if ye like.” He glanced at his hands, one still on her hip and the other traveling up to her waist. Claire felt his thumb stroke her sides and glanced down to watch him unravel her with his touch. _Who the hell was this guy?_ Ordinarily, she’d be offended by some guy holding onto her in a bar, but right now, she found herself hoping this one didn’t let go. She was still watching him trace his small circle on her waist when the hand on her hip reluctantly pulled away, while the one on her waist didn’t move at all. She glanced up to see a pink bloom appear in the tips of his ears and the triangle of chest visible through the dip in his shirt. It was her turn to smirk.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Sassenach. Got a wee bit distracted.” He shoved his free hand in the pockets of his worn jeans. 

“Sassenach--?” Suddenly she was cut off, by a loud voice behind them. 

“Jamie! Ye made it!” Jamie’s large hand pulled away from Claire’s side with a jolt and the absence made her shiver. Rupert and Angus were already making the introductions to their small table. The hellos and drink orders began and conversation between the group began again. Her head was dizzy, but not from the alcohol. She glanced up to see him eyeing her from over the top of his rocks glass, and her stomach flipped. _Pull yourself together._ Concentrating on the situation, she gathered that Jamie worked with Angus and Rupert at a small shop in the area, but missed the kind of work they did. 

With the addition of Jamie at their table, Geillis suggested they move to one of the booths lining the bar walls. The men blazed a trail forward through the crowd to secure seats, and Claire held Geillis back by the elbow. 

“I thought you said you only invited Rupert and Angus out tonight?”  
“I did! They asked if they could invite the third member o’ their party, and who am I to say no! Why, is something wrong?” 

Evidently no one else had seen her near fall, and Jamie’s rescue of her. “No, it’s fine, I just didn’t realize we’d have such a big group is all.” Geillis started to ask her another question but Claire nudged her friend forward. “Come on, they won’t hold seats for us forever!” 

Claire was the last to get to the table. Her step faltered for only a moment -- when the only open spot was next to Jamie. 

“I can move, if ye’d be more comfortable --”

“Do you mind if I sit here --?”

They spoke over each other quickly, and simply nodded in answer to each other’s questions. Jamie move down the bench as much as he could with Angus animatedly telling a story on the other side, and Claire filled in the vacant spot on the open end of the booth. It should have been awkward, being strangers forced into tight quarters… but she could’ve sworn he relaxed into side. 

Not a minute into settling down, the DJ at the front of the bar announced, “Next up we Claire, Geillis, and Joe!” 

Momentarily forgetting why they came here, the three friends jumped up from their seats and headed to the makeshift stage with two spotlights, a few microphones, and a small television screen. The men left at the booth watched them with confusion and excitement as they made their way up to the front, and ready for the show from their newfound friends. 

Claire, Geillis, and Joe each took a microphone and began to sing -- if one could really call it that. By the end of Like A Prayer, they were yelling the lyrics, howling with laughter, falling over each other with every repetition of “Just like a prayer, you know I’ll take you there!” The pub clapped and cheered, as a drunk bar on karaoke night often does, and the three friends made their way back to the booth still trying to get enough air back in their lungs after the ceaseless laughter. 

“I didna know ye could sing!” Rupert hugged Geillis into his side and Angus leaned over the tabletop to playfully punch Joe in the shoulder. 

“I think he means that we didna know ye were the type who can’t sing, but still goes to karaoke anyway!” Angus winked at Geillis, and she couldn’t seem to get her giggles under control. 

“Hey now! Joe and I might not be stars or anything, but at least we’re fun -- unlike ye three, who haven’t gone up once!” Taking a gulp from her pint glass, she narrowed in on Claire. “Besides, we sound okay because _someone_ can actually sing when she wants.” The table’s attention immediately moved to Claire with a bombardment of questions. 

“Ye can sing, lass?!”

“Go on, get up there and sing for me! Make it a bonny one!”

“Are ye a pop singer or a rock singer? I’ll have a different opinion of ye depending on the answer, ken?”

Then, another warm whisper. A hand on her knee. 

“Ye don’t strike me as a singer, Sasssenach.” 

Claire turned to face him then, her voice equally quiet when his eyes met hers. “And what do I strike you as?”

“A lass who struggles with her balance, for one,” he replied, “and who’s bad with awkward introductions and saying thank you, for two.” His eyes never left hers, but the crinkles on the edges only deepened with his smirk. Claire scoffed and protested, moving her leg away from his under the table, but his grasp tightened imperceptibly and his thumb was stroking the inside of her knee. “Maybe one day I won’t have to save ye from falling, and I’ll get to hear ye sing a little better than what I just saw.” Taking a swig from his glass, he continued to watch her. Claire started to object to his ideas of her, but Jamie’s attention was called away by Joe asking questions about his work. 

An hour passed by with many more drinks and much more laughter, with plans to meet up again next week. Joe left the party first to get back to his apartment to prepare for work the next day, followed by Rupert who claimed he needed to be up early to go into the shop. Soon it was just Angus and Geillis, who were most definitely going home together, and Claire and Jamie, who were most definitely not. 

“So what is it you actually do? I’ve been sitting next to you for a few hours now without a single notion of who you are besides your name.” They were sitting facing each other as best they could, trading stories and getting to know one another while Geillis and Angus got almost too close for decency. 

“Och, it’s no’ much. I opened a little bookstore in the area a few years back, and Angus and Rupert are my employees. More than that, I suppose, since I’ve known them my whole life. The bookstore was more a passion project a few years back, ken? Then one day, I decided I loved it more than engineering and left it all behind to give my all to the books.” Jamie’s eyes sparkled with mention of the bookstore, and Claire wanted to see him look like that forever. 

“What kind of stock do you have?” 

Jamie’s eyes positively twinkled. “Lots of antiques and first editions. I learned how to repair and restore old books when I was in college in Edinburgh. We carry the Times best seller list and lots of newer titles as well, but there’s nothing I love like an old book.” He smiled at her, and she melted. “Actually, there’s a favorite of mine--”

“Claire, get on up here!” The voice from the front boomed again, and she sent Jamie a wink as she scooted out of the booth. He stared at her dumbstruck, but released his hold on her leg. 

“Since you said my last song was horrible,” she teased over her shoulder as she walked to the front. 

He gave a hearty laugh and yelled to her, “I never said it was horrible! I said it wasn’t good!”

Claire had been coming to this pub for years now with Geillis and Joe for drinks and karaoke night. She was on a first-name basis with the regular DJs, and everyone knew her regular songs. Tonight was different. Tonight, she had met Jamie. She whispered to the DJ, walked on stage, and pulled out the piano bench. In the time it had taken Claire to move up front, Jamie followed suit just behind her to a table at the front. He had noticed the piano of course, but paid it no attention. Who would play a piano in a pub on karaoke night?

Claire would, evidently. She sat down, rolled her head a few times along her shoulders, and looked toward their booth. Jamie saw her fear when he wasn’t where she thought he’d be. He gave her a small wave, hoping the motion would draw her attention. She noticed, and flashed him the most brilliant smile he’d ever seen. She took a deep breath, and without playing, began to sing. 

_“Grab me by my ankles, I’ve been flying for too long; I couldn’t hide from the thunder in a sky full of song. I want you so badly but you could be anyone; I couldn't hide from the thunder in a sky full of song. Hold me down, I’m so tired now; Aim your arrow at the sky. Take me down, I’m too tired now, leave me where I lie.”_

The accompaniment was simple and melodic, Claire’s voice strong and dark. Jamie watched her play, the lyrics not lost on him. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t do anything but watch her. His chin rested on his hand, his elbow propped on the table. In that moment, he wished the night would never end but if it had to, then may he have many more with the enchanting woman before him. 

Edison bulbs lit the atmosphere with soft gold light, the hardwood floors shined beneath her feet. Her fingers danced over worn ivories on the old, worn piano, and her curls bobbed as she played. Had it been mere minutes since she began? Hours? A lifetime? God, he wished for a lifetime of this, with this stranger, with this enchanting woman. He didn’t realize she had stopped playing until the crowd began to cheer -- the only thing to exist for him, was her. She stood, pushed in the bench, and put the microphone stand back where it belonged like she had just done the most normal thing in the world. She walked toward him, slowing the closer she got to him. 

“Jamie, you haven’t moved once.” One step closer. “Well, you’d bloody well say something.” She folded her hands across her chest with a sigh, eyes downcast at the polished floor.

He blinked, stood, brought a hand up to brush away a particularly unruly curl, touching her with as must reverence as he could muster. A thumb caressed rosy apples, dark eyelids fluttered up to meet glittering oceans. 

“Christ, Claire. Yer the most incredible woman I’ve ever seen.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After karaoke night and Claire's impromptu performance, both Claire and Jamie spend the next day reconciling with their choices from the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened after Claire sang for Jamie? Fate works in mysterious ways, friends.

_ “Stay, Sassenach! One more drink!”  _

_ “One more drink might be the death of me, Mr. Fraser, and if you’d like to watch me embarrass myself again next week, I can’t be on my deathbed tonight!”  _

_ He had tried to convince her to let him walk her home, but she waved him off and pulled the sweater that had fallen off her shoulder back up to its rightful place at the junction of neck and shoulder -- a place Jamie couldn’t tear himself away from until that moment. She wrangled a loose curl behind her ear, tugged on her coat, and caught Jamie watching her every move, drink at his lips, eyes just over the rim of the glass. She could’ve stayed, could’ve responded, could’ve reacted to what she was feeling right then… no. A couple of hours together in a bar and a poor excuse for a solo at closing time did not change the fact she didn’t know this man.  _ This very handsome man,  _ she reminded herself. No. You came out here for yourself. Leave by yourself.  _

_ She met his eyes one last time, gave a nervous laugh, declared “Hope to see you next weekend!” all too loudly, and spun on her heel. She had stepped over the threshold when she thought she heard her name from inside, but she didn’t turn to find out.  _

* * *

Claire realized exactly three things when she awoke the next morning: The sun was shining too brightly, the street musician playing on the corner directly below her bedroom window was playing too loudly, and the memories of the last night with the redhead who loved music and books were coming on too fast. Somehow, in the span of a few hours, he had literally become her waking thoughts. She sat up in bed, still cocooned in a cloud of white cotton sheets and linen comforters.  _ What do you even know about him? Probably not even anything.  _ She pulled herself from the warmth of the bed, her feet landing on a soft oriental rug in shades of blues and greens.  _ His eyes were the colors in this rug. Just like the ocean itself.  _ Okay, she remembered one thing about him. The woven textile gave way to worn hardwood floors, on to cool hexagon tiles lining her bathroom floor as she passed through glass french doors between bookshelves on the wall. 

When Claire inherited her Uncle Lamb’s brownstone, she could remember only one thing about the place from her visits: the upstairs was magical. Quentin Lambert Beauchamp was an archaeologist, and although it rarely happened, he had decided he needed a home base to work from. In the historic brownstone, he neglected to update much besides the upper level. As the brownstone was on a corner lot, Lamb declared it must have every window possible to let in the light. Days were too gloomy and cloudy in England, and he would soak up all the light he could while teaching here at Harvard,  _ thank you very much.  _ The most magical room in the entire home (according to both Beauchamps) was lined from front to back with alternating windows and storage -- wide bookshelves on the top, long cabinets on the bottom. The opposite side was almost entirely made of the same bookshelves, save for two sets of french doors leading to a large closet and a larger master bathroom, respectively. The bookshelves traveled up to a curved ceiling, rails and ladders lined the walls to reach the highest and most precious of his belongs (now hers as well). Claire had painted the walls and trim shades of white and cream and ivory. The shelves were stripped and stained with a neutral-tone light wood with white filler. The brass fixtures and ladder rails sparkled in the warm morning light. Claire placed plants wherever she could fit them, and donned the shelves with memories to mingle with the ones Lamb left behind. This room, this place, was her favorite in the whole world. 

Back in the bathroom and walking to the walk-in shower, Claire bent down to reach the sweater she tossed aside the night before.  _ The underside of his hair is this color. Right at the base of his neck, with the extra curls. _ She shook her head and started the tap.  _ Maybe all his curls would turn that color when he got wet.  _ She turned the faucet as hot as she could stand it, reached an arm for her phone, and set Spotify to only play Blink-182.  _ We’re done with those feelings! No feelings, only the angst possible with punk rock!  _

Cold tile brought her down to earth again when she stepped out of the shower, the trails of water dripping down her back and breasts a refreshing break from the onslaught of pounding heat.  _ He felt like a breath of fresh air. Just like this.  _

With a towel wrapped around head and a t-shirt tossed on, she made her way back to the bedroom and took a seat on her bed. She desperately wished she had stayed for that last drink. Or at least got his number?  _ Why didn’t I get his number?!  _ Now, she’d have to wait another six days before seeing him again. Maybe her attraction to him was nothing more than lust, but if she could text with him, get to know him better, maybe she could find out. With no way of reaching him, she opted to get dressed and head out to clear her head. Maybe find a place to write? Since her decision to put herself first, she’d put letting off steam by writing and singing. It fell in live with the general creativity that fueled her life, while still being different enough from the greenhouse to give her a bit of rest and peace. As she contemplated where to adventure off that morning and pondered the correct way to lace her Doc Marten boots, her phone rang. A photo of three fresh faces graced her screen, a woman with wild dark curls with her mouth gaping with laughter, another woman with a waterfall of red hair and piercing green eyes made less intimidating by the crinkles at the edges, and a man with deep dimples surrounding his smile and an eyebrow raised in surprise at the camera taking their picture. Claire hit the accept button on the call, and thus the inquisition arrived. 

“We need to talk about last night!” The screen was split in two, with Geillis’ video on top and Joe’s on the bottom with Claire’s in the corner. 

“What about last night? I honestly thought our song was pretty good! I was thinking next week we could do--”

“That’s obviously not what we’re talking about, LJ! But agreed, we did a damn good job.”

“Will you two quit it?” Geilliis cut them off and brought her face closer to her screen. “We need to talk about Claire, that viking, and the unreal chemistry. Spill it ALL, Claire.”

* * *

Jamie had woke nursing a headache, but alas, today would not be the day for rest. He flipped the sign in the window of Fraser Literature from closed to open, and began to check off the list of opening duties. On the list was to water the plants. Set on a table in a small alcove, on top of side table next to a worn leather chair for patrons to sit and peruse a story in, hanging from simple planters in the window that stretched from edge to edge in front of the shop, guarding the aisles of books ready to be enjoyed by people who hadn’t read them yet. Jamie often visited a greenhouse just outside town for the shop’s plants. While a small place, it was teeming with love, peacefulness, and a sense of adventure with green as far as the eye could see, boarding the windows with giant leaves and trailing vines. The feeling inside was something he wanted to emulate in his own place, and so he started adding a wee bit of flora here and there. Rupert and Angus initially laughed off his efforts, claiming Jamie was “destroying the manly vibe” they were aiming for. With every bit of decoration, every little bit of effort however, the shop grew in reputation and success. Jamie was immensely proud of the shop he built, and even more grateful he was able to spend his days surrounded by the words of great men and women, constantly inspired and in awe of the endless stories at his fingertips. 

The lads -- Angus and Rupert, that is -- had brought up the idea of expanding into a few other fine art ideas within the shop. Jamie had been reluctant to agree to anything that wasn’t directly related to literature. As they stood around the front counter, Rupert led the charge: 

“Jamie, man. The people who like books are also the ones who like art and music and such. Why not try to bring them all together?” 

“What if they don’t care about the books? What if they don’t even look at them, and don’t care? What’s the point in having the shop, then?”

It was Angus’ turn to reply with, “Well the point is getting people in the door, and letting your “wee shop” as ye always call it speak for itself, aye?” 

Jamie had to agree with that point. He settled for telling the lads that if they could come up with a suitable idea, he’d agree to it. Twenty minutes later, Angus and Rupert stood in his office doorway saying they would be asking for local musicians to come and perform. 

“Doesn’t seem like yer asking for approval.” 

Jamie didn’t look up from his computer, but could hear the grin in Rupert’s voice as he replied, “‘Tis because ye know it’s a good idea, and ye wouldn’t refuse a good idea.” 

Jamie sat back in the rolling leather chair behind his antique desk and sighed, then laughed. “Why do I even try to control what ye two do? Yer jes’ going to do it anyway.” The lads grinned at each other and shrugged. “Go on then, see if ye can have some posters made up to put in the window.” 

He stood as Rupert saluted him and Angus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Aye aye, captain,” and stretched his long, lean, muscles. He needed to get a few errands completed, so opted to spend the next few hours outside both to complete his tasks and to get out in the fresh air. He told his friends he’d be back soon, and to let them know if he needed anything. 

With one step out into the sunlight, he immediately regretted the amount he had drunk the night before. Two in the morning was not a suitable time to be out, but for the lass with the dark curls and the whisky eyes, he’d give every moment of his time. From the moment he woke, he thought of her. Thought of how she made him laugh. Thought of how bonny she felt under his fingers, her hips on the barstool as she wiggled back into place, her thigh touching his under the booth table. He thought of how she’d gone up on stage as an act of defiance against him for the insult to her friend’s song, but how instead she ended up showing a piece of her soul to him, and him alone. He thought of how her eyes matched the swirling liquid in his glass. He thought of her abrupt departure after he had asked her to stay, and how he almost ran out after. He thought of how he was so incredibly stupid as to not have asked for her number before she ran.  _ Look what ye did -- now ye have to wait to see her, and yer barely functional as it is.  _ While Angus and Rupert had been gauging his interest for the musical talent in his office earlier, he had been searching the Facebook page for the 21st Amendment, combing it for references to her. To  _ Claire _ . Maybe she had performed there? Perhaps she and her friends had tagged the place in one of their pictures? There was no sign of her, and she hadn’t told him her last name.  _ Six days to go, mate. Ye can do this. She’s just a lass. Ye don’t know her.  _

After a few hours of tedious tasks (could the post office ever be efficient, just this once?), he made his way back to Fraser Literature. It was a warm day for autumn, and the shop would have a cart with discount books out on the sidewalk and the door propped open for fresh air. He would never tire of seeing his name on something he built, something he was so proud of. As he neared the shop however, it wasn’t the name on the window that drew his attention -- it was the many people standing inside, facing the window, looking outside. Jamie stopped and looked around, but not finding anything out of place around him. He took a few steps closer. They weren’t looking outside, but rather at the inside corner of the shop, the corner where the window meets the wall. He was only a few steps away when he saw it, when he heard it. A woman with bouncy curls and a round arse, sitting with her back to the window at a keyboard bench. He didn’t have to see her face to know. Her voice was enough. It was enough at two in the morning to imprint on him forever. 

She was there, in  _ his  _ shop.  _ His _ place. Claire. God,  _ his _ Claire. 

With one shaky step and an attempt at a steadying breath, he moved inside his sanctuary. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEE! I love the way this is coming together! Right now, I have up through chapter eleven outlined, so we've got a ways to go (it doesn't stop there -- we've got a lot more to get through!). I'm so excited you guys are loving these soft bairns. A lot of aspects of them are based on real-life experiences over here. I love a good karaoke bar, I have a small jungle of plants, and am an avid reader. It's so fun to bring pieces of my life into these characters. Thanks for all your love on this, it means the world to me! :)


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Claire found herself inside Jamie's bookshop, and what happens when Jamie finally gets inside to watch her perform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me over on Tumblr as bad-bitch-beauchamp. Thanks for all your comments so far, they mean the world to me!

The Alleys of Beacon Hill, Boston; Early October, Mid-Morning. 

Following a very _intense_ conversation with Joe and Geillis in which Claire repeatedly tried to express that there was absolutely nothing going on with that guy from the night before, peppered with lines like, “Oh bullshit, Claire! Jamie couldn’t take his eyes off ye!” from Geillis and “Seriously. It was disgusting. And romantic. Something’s there!” from Joe, Claire eventually succeeded in getting them to let the topic lie… for now. 

Outside in the daylight, Claire felt refreshed. She would find a place to sit and write, and decompress. Strolling down her tree-lined street, breathing in and out slowly, she savored the way autumn here made her feel. The brick townhomes was trimmed in white with shiny red and black doors, covered in wild ivy and window boxes with trailing flowers. Mums in classic pots lined the front porches, and stone walls raised courtyards and gardens above the worn-brick sidewalks. Tall trees, oak and maple and elm, towered as tall as the buildings and brought a soft green and yellow glow to everything below their canopies. Everything felt old, here. There was a history, here. Under normal circumstances, Claire could’ve never dreamed of living here in Beacon Hill, but because of Lamb’s will, his love, his generosity, she was now able to call her favorite place, home. She was a woman who placed very little weight on material goods, but if the townhouse and her greenhouse were the only things she claimed, she would die happy. Boston was the first place that Claire felt she could create her own history. She wandered through the winding alleys of Beacon Hill, admiring how green changes to gold on every leaf and living surface. She stopped at the coffee house that knew her name, left with an earl grey latte a few minutes later, and was back outside at a wrought-iron table and chair on the sidewalk, her black leather notebook and cheap pen drawn from her purse. She admired this little courtyard, tucked just off an alley. Across the close was her favorite bookstore. She often wished to had more time to visit the physical shop, but with running a business of her own, she didn’t have as much time to peruse all the fellow small businesses around her. When she moved to Boston in 2015, she stopped in the little bookshop, and left with nearly more books than she could carry. The man behind the desk told her she could place orders online as well if that would be easier for her, smirking as the top book of the stack Claire was balancing slid off the top. The bookshop took residence in a historic three-story brick building, with the shop taking up the bottom two floors. An open staircase in the middle of the shop gave way to an open loft filled with shelves and leather chairs. The downstairs was completely open, making it easy to work your way around the shop in a u-shape. For any other type of store, it might seem like a bit much. For the bookshop, however, it was the perfect mix of historical and charming and quaint and magnificent and absolutely beautiful. It had been awhile since she had been able to physically make it in the store, and she missed it and it’s comfortable grandeur greatly. 

Today was different though, as Claire had given herself the day off while Geillis worked, and she would spend it adding new books to her collection. She savored the last time of her latte and stood when she glimpsed a man inside the shop putting up a poster in the window.

 _Local Musician Wanted._ Claire approached the sign after the man finished taping it to the window. In smaller letters, it read: _Come share your talent, play for the community, and grab a good book when you’re done. Call or inquire within._

She had promised herself to have more fun, and karaoke had turned out to be a blast in the years she and her friends had been going. Music and gardening are what made her feel alive, made her heart bloom… Why not give this a chance when she wasn’t working? Claire’s heart rate sped up and she started to sweat when she thought of going inside and introducing herself as a musician. Deciding she’d call and arrange a time to come in with her keyboard, she started to turn away. The morning sunlight caught the lettering on the window, glittering just at the edge of her vision. She’d never paid much attention to the store’s exterior before -- or really even the name, since she’d long been calling it just “the bookshop” for years now -- but today, the gold paint drew her attention. _Fraser Literature._ Her breath hitched, her pulse raced, her head lightened. She couldn’t look away from the sparkling name on the glass. _It couldn’t be… could it?_ Her pulse raced, her head felt light, the brick and cobblestone around her began to swirl. 

With one shaky step and an attempt at a steadying breath, she pulled open the heavy wooden door. 

* * *

Fraser’s Literature, Beacon Hill, Boston. Mid-Afternoon. 

Jamie stepped through the doorway and tried not to jostle the small crowd that had assembled at the front of the shop. He just wanted to glimpse her, convince himself that she was real, that this, was real. That she was here in his shop, playing her music, just for him. He slowly, carefully, made his way to back of the crowd and found a small bit of standing room directly in her line of vision. She’d play a song with no lyrics, only instrumental melodies followed by quiet chords braided with thoughtful verse and chorus. The sunlight was streaming in the shop’s window now, lighting the crown of her head with rivers of auburn and gold. _God, she’s ethereal._ After each song, the small crowd would quietly clap and she would politely nod, cheeks turning rosey with shyness when her eyes fell back to the keys -- like she hadn’t even noticed they’d been there. She’d occasionally look up and look around the crowd, but only for a moment. _Come on, lass. Look up. Find me. See me._ As if she heard his plea, she held a long chord with both hands on the keys and looked up, straight into his eyes. Jamie gulped. She was singing, in French. She was singing, to him. He hadn’t expected it to work, the calling for her. He didn’t expect to be shocked into stillness by the whisky of her eyes and the dark shimmering curls around her head. He didn’t expect to feel this way after one night with a lass he barely knew… But here he was, enthralled by her. A gentle hand cupped his shoulder then and he jumped. 

“Ye look completely enamored for a man who just met the lass a single night ago. Like a lovesick puppy,” said Rupert. Claire had gone back to her songs, but both men continued to watch her. 

Angus had joined them now. “Ye never want to seem too eager tae please a woman, ye ken? It gives them too much power.”

Jamie watched as Claire finished another piece. He had to physically keep his feet rooted in place when she glanced his way, quirked a corner of her mouth up in a smile, and quickly looked down, tugging her cardigan tighter around her chest to hide the pink bloom erupting there and moving up her neck. “Aye, I’m completely under her power,” he smiled softly at her, “and happy tae be there.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Jamie tried to work, he really did. He refused to work in his office, since it was the furthest place from the front windows, and the furthest place from Claire. He went around with a polishing rag, trying to be inconspicuous with his meanderings until Rupert whispered, “I can practically see ma reflection in that shelf. Maybe move yerself along?” He tried to water the plants, only to remember he’d already done that when the pots started to overflow. He would run his hands through his hair just for something to occupy his time. Eventually, Angus suggested he bide his time making sure the rare and first-edition copies that sat on the highest shelves were dust-free. 

“Aye, that’s a good idea! I’ll just be up on the ladder then if ye need me.” Angus laughed and shook his head as Jamie ascended the first rung. “Come get me, will ye,” Angus turned to look at him with a smirk and raised brow, “if she… uh, if anything happens.” 

“Yeah yeah, get tae work. I doubt she’ll be leaving without saying hello if her looks meant anything at all -- and they definitely did.” 

Jamie placed the last book at the end of the row back into its place and started his way back down the ladder to slide it to the next tall shelf when electricity pulsed up his calf. He lost his footing and came to a crashing halt on his back on the floor. 

“Fuck fuck fuck… Fuck! are you okay? I shouldn’t’ve spooked you!” He tried to shift himself up, but couldn’t. “Don’t try to move; here, I’ll try to keep you still. Is your head okay?” It took Jamie a moment to get his bearings. His head smacked the hardwood floor when he landed, and his wrist tried to take the fall. Neither of those things were of much concern to him now though, since Claire was kneeling over him. Not just kneeling over him, he noticed. She was on top of him, a knee on either side of his torso. His brain was short-circuiting. She was in light-wash high-waist skinny jeans, a goldenrod cardigan, and a white tank top and _she was on top of him_ . He couldn’t stop tracing her with his eyes. “Jamie?? I’m going to need you to respond or I’ll have to call the squad. Can you hear me? Can you say something, please? What hurts??” _Dear God in heaven, nothing hurts. Nothing a damn thing._ Her face came closer to his and he noticed the way her curls fell forward, how the sun was still lighting her from behind, how she was absolutely incredible. He blinked. Her brows knitted and her hands came to his face. Her touch revived him and he remembered how to speak. 

“Claire,” he watched her, reverently. She smiled as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. 

“Oh, thank god. You scared the shit out of me with that little stunt, you know,” she said as she began touching near and watching his eyes. _Touch me again, never stop,_ he thought to himself. “How do you feel? Any ringing in the ears, nausea, blurry vision, dizziness, light sensitivity? Wait, you’re not bleeding, are you?” 

Jamie smirked. “Actually, there’s some pressure on my abdominal region.”

“Your stomach? I don’t understand how that could have…” She blushed when she realized she was still straddling him, right on the storeroom floor. “You mean me.” She climbed off of him as quickly as she could manage and turned a shade of red Jamie hadn’t known was possible. “I am SO sorry about that, I didn’t know if you’d be injured and you wouldn’t stay still so I--”

“It’s quite alright, lass. Thank ye for looking after me. Truly.” His hand came out to hold hers. His thumb brushed her knuckles. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? Honestly? I feel terrible.”

“I’m jes’ fine, Sassenach.” He made to stand up then, using his arm to prop himself when he stood. He came crashing back down with a grunt. 

“It sure wouldn’t seem like you’re “jes’ fine”,” she replied in her best mocking tone. He smiled, sheepishly. “Is there somewhere we can go where I can have a better look at it?”

“Does up in the loft work for ye? It’s usually quieter, and better light than in the office.” 

“Sounds perfect.” She extended a hand to him. “On your feet, soldier.” He looked at her then. How could one woman go from tugging on his heartstrings with soft melodies and French words to making him fall for her with demanding medical questions and authoritative requests. He watched her outstretched hand, her long fingers, her gentle bones. He watched her eyes, watch him. He grasped her hand, and she led up him up the stairs to the loft. _She_ led _him._ In his shop. Seeing her lead him, he decided he’d let her lead up anywhere for the rest of his days. 

She motioned for him to sit in a velvet wingback chair and took his wrist in her hands. He tried to breathe normally as her fingers probed the dips in his palm and traced down the veins in his forearm. Surely, she would feel his pulse. Surely, she would know she was the one that made it race. In the distance, Jamie heard her ask him some questions about pain and discomfort, and he’d nod or not depending on his response. He couldn’t form words. He was still in disbelief she was even there, in front of him, kneeling at his side. 

Claire sat back on her heels. “Will you tell me if it starts to hurt? You could have a sprain, you know. That was a pretty nasty fall.” 

His mind was working overtime but he finally found words to use. “If ye didna find anything wrong, I’m sure I’m jes’ fine.” He dipped his head to meet her eyes. “Yer a verra competent doctor, Claire.” He grinned. A tear fell from Claire’s face. “Och lass, what is it? Did I do something wrong?” She sniffed. She wouldn’t look at him. “Please, Claire. Please talk to me.” 

“You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m not a doctor, is all.” She wiped away a tear with the sleeve of her sweater. “I actually… I quit medical school, a few years back.” 

“I’m sorry, I didna know…”

“It’s honestly fine,” she replied hastily. “I’m really happy with the decisions I’ve made in my life, and I don’t have any regrets. Honestly. It’s just… sometimes it hits me that the plans I made my whole life didn’t work out. It gets me sometimes.” Jamie watched her, listening. “Oh my god, I just keep rambling!” She sat back on her hands, legs out in front of her, ankles crossed. “I’m so sorry about that, I really am fine.” She smiled at Jamie, and reached down to hold her hand. 

“I understand the feeling of missing things that didna come to pass. I feel it myself sometimes.” Claire watched their hands intertwine. “Ye can always talk to me, Claire. I’m always here.” _I’ll always be here._

She laughed then, and looked up at him still sitting in the chair. “Next time, I’d like to see you when one of us hasn’t nearly killed ourselves with a fall.” She giggled, and Jamie followed suit. 

“Ideally, that’d lovely,” he replied with a laugh of his own. “What brings ye to the shop by the way, if ye don’t mind me asking? I never expected to see ye here today.” 

“Oh, I came here for the first time after I moved, and I try to make my way in again whenever I can but work makes that a little difficult. It’s one of my favorite places in Boston though. It’s so quaint and quiet, but somehow still enchanting, and then today I saw a poster in the window asking for musicians and…” Jamie was absolutely beaming. “Wot?”

He laughed then at her absolute Englishness, and brought his free hand up to join their combined ones. “I’m jes’ glad ye like it here so much is all.”

She looked down at their hands. “To be honest, I was going to come today anyways, but then I saw the poster, and I remembered what the name of this place is, and well, I took a chance.”

Jamie was watching her intensely. “And ye took a chance.” He, too, looked down at their hands. “I’m glad ye did.”

The conversation was heavier than Claire thought it would be. She didn’t expect this. She cleared her throat and asked, “So, how long have you been here?”

“Me, or the shop?”

“Both, I suppose. The shop has been here as long as I have.” 

“I moved here from Scotland--"

“Shocking, the accent didn’t give _anything_ away,” she joked, and he pinched her forearm before continuing. 

"--back in 2015--"

"Hey, that's when I got here, too!"

“--and I’ve been here ever since. When I graduated my undergraduate studies, I went back home to the highlands and spent some time with family. Wandering the cobbled streets, the little shops, reading about the history… it was the only thing I wanted to do with my life. Some things happened back in Scotland -- some family things and some ex-girlfriend things -- and Boston seemed as good a place as any with history to start over. So, here I am. I started the shop, hired the lads when they came over a bit after me, and that’s the story.” 

“I feel like there’s more to the story you’re leaving out,” she said with a grin, “and I do love a good story, Mr. Fraser.” 

“Ye got the Cliffnotes version. Tell me yours,” he nodded at her. 

“Well, I nearly didn’t survive medical school. I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t coping, and my mental health was kind of in the gutter,” she looked at him, and he gave her a sympathetic smile. Maybe he understood the feeling better than he let on. “I decided to drop out during my junior year and leave it behind. My uncle used to live here and left me some property, so I moved, and started over. Geillis and Joe came over after they graduated. Joe continued with medicine, and Geillis joined me, and as you said, that’s the story.”

“And where is it you started over at? What is it ye do?”

“Oh, I opened a plant shop here in Beacon Hill. It’s exotic houseplants, non-traditional bouquets, that kind of thing. It’s small, and eventually I’d like to run a greenhouse and garden, but right now, the shop is perfect. Besides, Boston isn’t exactly condusive for having that, is it?” She laughed, and tried to hold her pipe dreams at bay. “Geillis offers zero-waste products, and makes some of the macrame hangers and planters in the shop. It really is the most lovely place. If you ever want to visit and make sure I’m not the one to fall off a ladder, it’s just over on---”

“Garden Street. Aye, I know the place,” said Jamie, smiling to himself. His eyes were positively twinkling. 

“You know the shop?” 

“Where d’ye think all the plants in this place came from? Aye, I know yer wee shop and believe me, Claire. It’s a dream. I had no idea it was you behind it all.” He paused, watching her. Drinking her in. “We’ve just missed each other for years now, it would seem.”

All she could do was nod. Her mind was racing. How had they been so close so many times, but had never met? How had only two days with the man made her feel like her heart was beating outside her chest? He moved to the floor to sit next to her, his hand on her thigh. Suddenly, he turned to her. “I think yer verra brave, Claire. For starting over like that. For following your dreams.” Her pulse slowed with his comforting words, and her hand rested on top of his.  
“I could say the same about you, you know.”

They stayed that way for a while, watching the people down below, touching hands, touching legs, moving closer into shoulders and sides. Jamie leaned back into the shelves. Claire sighed. 

“Since you own the place, I guess I should let you get back to work.” She stood, smiled, and started down the stairs. Jamie launched to his feet, unwilling to let what happened the previous night repeat itself. 

“Claire! Lass!” He reached for her hand and she stopped a few stairs below him, turning to face him. His mouth was dry. 

“I dinna think I can’t wait a week to see ye again. I didna think I could stand it this morning and then ye dropped out of the clear blue sky into my shop and ye sang yer songs -- oh, and I didna know ye knew French! I do as well,” Claire blushed at that but Jamie continued on, “and ye showed up and mended my wounds and ye told me of our shared histories, and… and I willna wait to see ye again.” He descended a step. “That is, if ye want to see me, too.” 

Claire was overcome not just with Jamie’s declaration, but also with everything that had happened today and the last five years that led them here today. She could only smile at his nervousness, and admire him. _You’re beautiful, James._ His simple navy t-shirt was pulled taught across strong muscles, the red curls she daydreamed of were just combed straight back with the exception of a single lock that escaped with his chase of her down the stairs. His ocean eyes bore into hers with a plea, with an guarded passion Claire was increasingly desperate to unlock. She reached in her crossbody bag to retrieve a pen and finding no paper, offered up a Dunkin’ Donuts receipt. She brought the receipt up to his chest, just above his heart, and wrote her name and number. 

“I’ll be waiting for your call,” she said, and turned back down the stairs, not waiting for a reply. 

She reached was reaching for the door when a voice echoed down the stairs, “I promise ye’ll hardly be waiting at all, Sassenach.”

His phone rang then, and a woman’s smiling face shone up at him from the screen. As soon as he could, he would call Claire. He sighed, and hit accept on the call. 

* * *

Fraser's Literature is based on a bookshop where I live! I picture Jamie's a little more cozy with a lot more brick, but it general outline looks like [THIS](https://www.visitrapidcity.com/sites/default/files/styles/hero_2800x900/public/2020-06/Mitzi%27s%20%281%29.jpg?h=d1bdfbfd&itok=aTt-EpKK).

[THIS](https://newengland.com/wp-content/uploads/beacon-hill-ivy.jpg) and [THIS](https://newengland.com/wp-content/uploads/beacon-hill-boston-louisburg-square-3.jpg) is the Beacon Hill area of Boston, if you're curious! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! These two finally got their reunion! (Does it count as a reunion if it's the day after they last saw each other?) 
> 
> This was going to be two chapters, inside the bookshop and how Claire found herself there, but I figured I'd rather have a long chapter than two shorter chapters. Thoughts? I've got the story outlined to chapter 10 at this point, where the slow burn should finally explode, followed by the long-awaited angst -- you remember the song this is based on, right? ;) 
> 
> Thanks for reading, friends!


	5. Chapter Five

Louisburg Square, Beacon Hill, Boston

Claire was just walking up to the picturesque green of Louisburg Square, where her townhouse sat facing the gardens, when her phone began an incessant buzzing. She had her hands full after stopping at the market for dinner staples (otherwise known as a box of Velveeta Shells & Cheese). She was fumbling with her purse and muttering a not-so-quiet “Shit,” when she dropped her keys on the porch. When she stooped lower to get the keys, more toiletries from the market spilled onto the ground and rolled down the steps while her phone continued to buzz. “Oh fuck it all to hell… Oh hello, Mr. Grant!” Claire’s next door neighbor was a kind man, but always appeared perplexed -- whether by her uncontrollable hair, clothes splattered with dirt from the shop, or simply by wondering how she came to be the owner of one of the most coveted real estate properties in New England, Claire would never know. 

“Hello dear. Are you alright over there?” His brow was knit as Claire shoved her scattered belongings back into their various bags all while muttering under her breath as to not offend the old man’s sensibilities. She stood, and realized he had most definitely already heard her vocabulary choices. 

“Oh, I’m fine, just one of those days!” _Those days where you fall head over heels for the strange guy you met last night and then all your shit falls on the sidewalk because your brain is short-circuiting._

“Well as always, if you need anything, I’m just here and happy to help.”

“Thank you! One day I’ll absolutely take you up on it -- I’m usually less of a mess!” She tried to joke it off, but it sounded a little too much like she was trying to justify herself to her neighbor, and herself. 

Mr. Grant smiled. “Of course, dear. Ah, you seem to be very popular today!” 

Claire’s phone went off for at least the fifth time. She tried to reign in her annoyance, said her goodbyes to the man, and using her foot to kick a back of groceries inside the doorway finally made it inside. She dug around her bag for the phone ready to lash out at whatever telemarketer couldn’t take a hint, but stopped. 

Two missed phone calls, four missed texts. The caller left a voicemail for each call. She pressed play on the earlier one.

 _“Hi Sassenach, uh, Claire, I guess I should call ye Claire since that’s yer name, huh? Shit. Hold on… Okay, let me start over. Hello Claire, this is Jamie. James. James Fraser? From the bookshop and the karaoke, ye ken? Of course she kens, ye damn eedjit… Me! Not you! Oh god this is literally the worst call I’ve ever made in my life. Fuck it, I’m just going to try again.”_ The voicemail abruptly ended. Claire was in stitches at his earnest attempt to just talk to her. At least he wasn’t lying when she heard him say she wouldn’t have to wait long at all for message from him. She pressed play on the second voicemail. 

_“Hello Claire, I hope this message finds ye well. It was verra nice to see ye today at my shop. It may be the cool, relaxed thing tae do would be to not call ye right away, but ye make me feel anything but cool and relaxed and under control. Ye make me feel… like there’s something different between us, mo nighean donn. As I told ye in the shop, I dinna think I can wait another week to see ye. If you would do me the honor of saying yes, I would verra much like to take ye out for dinner and drinks. Or anything ye wanted to do, really. Dinner and drinks was just my idea… okay I think I’m getting flustered again so I’m going to quit while I’m ahead. Okay thanks, talk to you soon hopefully, bye. Oh, and this is Jamie Fraser.”_

Her laughter had died out the moment he said how she made him feel. Is that really how he felt about her? Did he mean it? Claire had a feeling that _Jamie Fraser from the bookshop and the karaoke, ye ken_ didn’t ever say things he didn’t mean. She fell into the couch facing the big bay window, and breathed. Her breath came in heavy, her heartbeats fast. Her thoughts were swirling and her mind racing and everything felt light around here. A little breathlessly, she opened her text app to a number she didn’t recognize. 

[+16178256192]: _Hello Claire, this is James Fraser from Fraser Literature and from karaoke last night at The 21st Amendment._

Claire actually laughed out loud now. As if she could forget who he was! He had turned her world upside down at the bar, she sang in his shop, she gave him her phone number less than an hour ago! She added his number to her contacts before reading his following texts. 

[Jamie]: _Okay that was weirdly formal, sorry_

[Jamie]: _Could ye do me a favor and just delete the first voicemail?_

[Jamie]: _I was hoping we could maybe set up a time for the date I mentioned earlier at the shop? I would really like to see ye again before next week._

[Jamie]: _And maybe before we have to hang out with the Spanish Inquisition. ;)_

Claire laughed through her nose at that last one; apparently, Jamie had been grilled about their relationship? Interaction? by Rupert and Angus like Claire had been by Joe and Geillis. She reread all the messages he’d sent her before responding. 

[Claire]: _Hello James Fraser, owner of Fraser Literature and karaoke. I do indeed remember and even if I didn’t, you’ve reminded me several times in your many incessant texts/voicemails. ;)_

Three dots immediately popped up, disappeared, popped up, and a next text appeared. 

[Jamie]: _I told ye to delete the first voicemail! You weren’t supposed to hear my rambling!_

[Claire]: _Uh huh, seems likely. ;) Maybe I have a super power that renders you useless around me?_

[Jamie]: _Well lass you're not far off._

[Jamie]: _How’s about that date? What are you doing tonight?_

[Claire]: _Lol, you’re not tired of seeing my face yet?_

[Jamie]: _Not yet, not ever._

[Jamie]: _Sooooooooo, dinner? ;)_

Eventually, they decided on a little Italian place close to Claire’s place. Claire paced around the upstairs bedroom, trying out an outfit only to rip it off and throw it in a pile on the floor. She’d walk to the bathroom, evaluate her look, give a deep breath out her nose, and was now at the point of yelling about how she had no clothes. But, she remembered. In a garment bag at the back of her closet hung a blood-orange dress. A square neckline gave way to a triangle dip in the middle, the hem came just to the middle of her thigh with a cinched waistline.. She smiled, sadly. The last time she wore the dress, she was still in med school. Frank had asked her out to “a dinner with a few medical friends” and promised she could make a few connections to help her down the road. Claire ended up discarded at the door until Frank needed to show her off to a classmate or professor or colleague. She learned he hadn’t told anyone she was also studying medicine, telling her he “wanted to let you stand on your own, darling.” The last time she had worn that dress, she realized she wouldn’t resign herself to a life of being second-best to her partner, to a group of strangers, or to anyone. Tonight was the perfect time to remind herself she was taking things into her own hands yet again -- with Jamie at her side. Her smile turned genuine, and she pulled it off the hanger. 

* * *

Jamie knew this was unusual. Claire wasn’t the first girl he’d ever been interested in, but if he had any choice in the matter, she would be the last one. Rationally, he should’ve been talking himself out of planning a future with the girl from the bar, but he couldn’t help himself. When he was in high school in Scotland, he kissed a girl who smelled like hairspray and spun sugar and he didn’t like that at all. He kissed a few lasses before rugby games and they’d tell him it was all for good luck. He enjoyed them (didn’t every red-blooded teenage boy enjoy kisses before sports games?), but enjoyment was the extent of it. In college, he had met Annalise. She was smart and kind and lovely, and so bonny. She’d loved his family, loved him. And he had loved her, too. Their relationship started after their first year at school when they became close friends and confidants. She was truly one of the best friends he’d ever had, outside of the lads. When he said he was leaving Scotland to pursue his dreams in the states, she said she was being “abandoned”. Jamie considered asking her to come with him to build a life, but reconsidered. After many long conversations, many tears, many honest words… they had decided their relationship was based in comfort. They loved each other, there was no doubt about that. They loved each other because of their close friendship, their proximity to each other at school, their families’ friendship that developed because of their own. When Jamie confronted Annalise about his realization that he would forever be grateful for her, but didn’t see a romantic future together, she had cried and told him she was so happy -- she felt the same. They split amicably and continued to call and text when they could. Friendships like theirs didn’t just dissipate. 

With Claire, things felt… different. Emotional, raw, honest, profound. It felt like something he couldn’t quite place. Something he didn’t have words for. The mere thought of her made his pulse quicken, made his breath catch in his chest. Their connection last night at the bar, their physical connection at the bookshop _(god, how it felt to be touched by her…)_ , their easy banter over text, and then when she gave him her address… he had to sit down. He knew her address exactly. He’d passed it every time he went home, or went to work, or went anywhere at all. She lived in Louisburg Square, across the garden and just to the right of a place he knew intimately. She lived across the garden and just to the right, of his place. They were neighbors. He never knew. He thought back to telling her how they must have just been missing each other for years, but _god,_ he never knew how close they really were. 

Jamie finished tying up his leather boots and took a look in the mirror. Hair brushed back, curls falling at his neck, a light blue button-up, a leather jacket. _Not too bad. Still not good enough for her, though._ He tugged at the neck of his shirt, and left his townhouse. He made his way up his side of the square, and stopped not ten feet up the sidewalk. He saw her. From the second floor, Claire was illuminated by soft light in the window, gauzy curtains framing her. He could only watch in awe as her head tilted to the side to fit an earring to her ear. She reached for a brush and started to comb out a curl. Jamie sighed contentedly when he noticed her hair was still down, curled around her face, wild as ever. Claire gave up with the brush and settled herself to smoothing down creases in her wee dress with delicate hands. Hands that had touched him, healed him, had literally written her name over his heart. She was... _etheral._ Tearing his eyes away from the window, he managed to send her a message: 

[Jamie]: _On my way there Sassenach_

[Claire]: _No worries, take your time. See you soon!_

Jamie rounded the center garden and up to her steps. The light from the window was still glowing, but he could no longer see her. One more text: 

[Jamie]: _Just outside_

He walked up the steps, raised his knuckles to the brass knocker, and paused. _First step to forever…_ His phone buzzed. 

[Claire]: _I thought I said to take your time? ;) seriously, how’d you get here so fast? Just a sec and I’ll be down!_

He did knock then, answered her text to say there was no rush, he wasn’t going anywhere. Behind the door he heard a literal run down the stairs and he stifled a chuckle. There was a jingle of keys, a fairly loud, “Shit!” as the keys hit the floor, a scuttle of shoes around the entry, and the door opened. 

_Here we go, lad._

* * *

[THIS](https://ap.rdcpix.com/df83e3aea724423aeee25b727b50cbe7l-m4223129385xd-w1020_h770_q80.jpg) is Louisburg Square. I encourage you to roam around the [GOOGLE MAPS](https://www.google.com/maps/place/Louisburg+Square,+Boston,+MA+02108/@42.3583953,-71.0692071,19.46z/data=!4m5!3m4!1s0x89e3709eb7278293:0x5b9786302f0e8921!8m2!3d42.3584505!4d-71.068613?hl=en) area to get a better picture of their homes! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going on a DATE! And we met Annalise this chapter! What do we think about her and their relationship? She'll be around. ;) 
> 
> Also, I've always said that I don't believe in coincidences. I don't believe that things happen without reason. For Jamie and Claire, every choice in their lives has led them to each other. For these two, every step, every choice, everything about them has been bringing them closer and closer. You'll continue to see that fate plays a big role in this story, and I'm so excited to see it playing out. 
> 
> Thank you again for all your kind comments -- It makes so happy to see that so many of you are finding joy in this story. I appreciate you. Stay safe and healthy out there!


	6. The First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience while I was away! Without further ado, the first (official) date!

**CHAPTER SIX**

A small italian restaurant near Louisburg Square, Beacon Hill, Boston

* * *

“How’d you do that?” Claire was fumbling with her keys, trying to get the lock to work on her black front door while Jamie waited just below on the sidewalk. 

“Do what?” 

“How did you get here so fast? Because one minute, you said you were leaving your place and the next, you were on my front porch. The way I see it is you’re either Superman or you’re a stalker.” 

He chuckled. “Just another twist of fate for us, lass.” Claire turned to face him. He stood for a moment watching her and if it had been any longer, she might’ve started to feel self-conscious from his gaze. He shook his head and looked up at her through long, red lashes. His hand stretched upward and outward toward her, and her soft smile made his heart soar. Claire took a deep breath, took his large hand in hers, and descended the brick stairs toward the night’s adventure. 

* * *

There were only three things Jamie confirmed with Claire before their date that night: her address, what time he should pick her up, and if she liked Italian food. Claire was never one to turn down a bowl of noodles and, with a glance up at her rather large walking partner, ventured Jamie was never one to say no to carbs. He had declined to tell her exactly where they were to have dinner that night over text, and Claire’s curiosity was kicking in as they strolled through Boston Commons. 

‘Ye said ye enjoyed Italian food, so just trust me that ye’ll like where we’re headed.”

“That’s hardly an answer.” 

“It’s a good enough answer. Patience isn’t really a virtue of yer’s, is it?” 

The pair continued to walk down through the Commons, wandering along pathways and strolling past monuments. Their conversation flowed easily and Claire found herself wondering how she could have only met this man, this kind and funny and compassionate and loving and enthralling man, mere hours before. Claire had grabbed a cashmere wrap before she ran down the stairs in case of chilly fall weather, and was glad for it. She started out her walk with Jamie by holding her wrap around her upper arms, secured by her hands held at her chest. As their walk continued, she caught herself letting go to touch Jamie’s arm, to lead him around a pond by the hand, to swat at him when he made a joke. She was comfortable. Their banter and laughter and talks were natural and easy. 

“You have to tell me where we’re going! First, you show up at my home with a very thin explanation, and now you’re leading me through the city with no direction! I happen to think my stalker theory is holding more traction with every moment, Mr. Fraser.” 

“Alright, a few things, Sassenach,” he said. Their arms were linked together as they made their way over the intersection of Charles and Beacon streets. “First off, my explanation was solid. It was fate I got to yer place so quickly.” He ushered her across the busy street and onto a smaller side street lined with trees and old facades. “Second, I’m no’ a stalker. If I was, I would have found as soon I could have after last night. Yer all I thought about today. Had I known how to find ye, I would have,” he said. He moved his hand to her lower back as he moved them down the sidewalk. Claire simply smiled down at the ground at his honest admission. “Third,” he slowed their pace, “did ye consider I jes’ wanted to spend a little extra time with ye?” He paused to open the door to the restaurant. A whisper brushed along her ear as she slid past him in the entrance, bushing against his chest. “The time I get doesna seem to be enough.” She turned to face him then. He only smiled softly, urging her forward through the doors. 

Jamie pulled out a worn leather chair for her before seating himself across the small square table draped with a crisp white tablecloth and topped with two brass candlestick holders and a myriad of glassware. Claire smirked at the fanciness of it all -- they’d met in a dark bar in the middle of the night and talked over dusty bookshelves and now, she was pretending she belonged in a place like this. When Jamie had asked if she liked Italian, she figured they’d end up at a mom and pop place eating spaghetti and drinking too much wine, not acting on their best behavior at one of the finest restaurants in Beacon Hill. 

“Are ye alright, Claire?” 

Her head popped up to find Jamie studying her. His head cocked like a puppy who watches something new with a mix of awe and confusion in his eyes. He leaned forward as if to reach for her hand, and drew back. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about that, I must’ve zoned out a bit there,” she fibbed. She fidgeted with her napkin on her lap, folding and unfolding it. 

“Ye know, I--” Jamie was interrupted by the waiter. He sighed and requested two bottles of wine, a red and a white, and two whiskeys. Claire stifled a giggle at the waiter’s outfit while Jamie was acting the role of adult: the teen wore clean black slacks, a pressed white shirt, a black vest, and a white cloth on his forearm completed the look. The waiter looked at her with confusion. 

“Sorry, just thinking about something that happened earlier,” she muttered. The waiter walked away, with a parting glance at Jamie. 

“Care tae share what’s so funny, lass?” She expected a look of disdain.  _ The same look Frank would’ve given her,  _ she realized, if she acted this way at a dinner with him. There was never to be any fun, never any giggles, never any banter. She straightened in her chair and attempted to put her feelings about the absurdity of the night behind her. 

“Oh, it’s nothing!” Quickly shifting the subject, she moved on. “Did I hear you order four separate alcohol drinks?” 

“I wasna sure what ye liked, besides the whisky, so I thought I’d get one of everything to be safe.” It was Jamie’s turn to shift in his seat now. “Shit,” he muttered. “I forgot to ask for ice water.” Motioning back toward the waiter’s station he stopped to add, “Wait, did ye even want ice water? Mebbe ice tea? A coffee? I should’ve asked what ye wanted instead of assuming, Claire, and I’m sorry for it…” 

“Jamie. It’s fine.” It was Claire’s turn to reach across the table and take his hand. His eyes moved from the waiter across the room instantly down to their hands. He marveled in the way her fingers intertwined with his, how she traced the bones and knuckles, drawing maps to nowhere in particular. He thumbed over the soft skin of her palms and looked up at her through long lashes. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Ye can ask me anything ye want,” he answered quickly. 

“What are we doing here?” 

That got his attention. His gaze hardened, his spine stiffened. “What do ye mean?” She didn’t immediately answer, so he continued on. “I asked ye here tonight, because I couldn’t stop thinking about ye all night. And then today, to see ye, to be healed by ye… Christ, I couldn’t wait to see ye or talk to ye or to hold yer hand or merely to be near ye again. If ye’d rather not see me after tonight, I understand and I respect yer wishes. If that’s the case though, I think I’d rather ye let me know that now instead of having me sit here knowing I can’t have ye. I have enough alcohol to get me through the night, I think…” A giggle erupted from the opposite side of the small square table. 

“You certainly do have enough alcohol, but I’d rather like to enjoy it with you, if you don’t mind.” One hand held his, and the other held her chin in her palm, elbow propped up on the table. 

“Ye’d let me see ye again?” 

“Without a doubt.”

Tension flowed out of his muscles and his eyes shimmered in the candlelight. “Why’d ye ask what we were doing here then?” 

“I just mean that you don’t have to go through so much trouble for us to spend time together. I know we just met but I’d wager that fancy restaurants with wine lists bigger than the menu aren’t your usual hangout. I’m a simple woman who enjoys simple pleasures, Jamie. Please don’t make this anything more than the perfect night it could be if you just relax.” 

He studied her. The curls flowing down around her face, curling at her collarbones. The eyes the same color of his favorite whisky sitting in the crystal decanter on the sideboard back home. Her delicate features that reminded him of the stories of the faeries from back home. She wiggled in her seat under his gaze. He sighed. “I just wanted to honor ye, Sassenach. Do ye right,” she smirked at that. “Och, ye know what I mean,” he said and playfully squeezed her hand in his. “I wanted to treat ye the way I think ye should be treated.”

_ Would he ever cease to stop being so honest and vulnerable?  _ She hoped not. This confession, his honest assessment of her, made her eyes shimmer with a thin line of unshed tears. 

“Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry if I overstepped…” 

“You didn’t.” She looked up from her hand in his and marveled at the way she cared for him already, so soon. “Just… thank you, Jamie.” 

The waiter reappeared to take their dinner orders and the two were left to talk under their meals arrived. He talked about his favorite book, Song of Myself by Walt Whitman  _ (“Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged. Missing me one place, search another. I stop somewhere waiting for you.” he brought her knuckles to her lips. She shivered. He blushed.) _ ; she told him about the tropical plant she’d grown from a start for the last five years, the pride and joy radiating from her words and beaming smile  _ (“I couldna ever grow something that took that much work,” “It just takes the right touch,” “Aye, that ye have.”) _ . The waiter arrived back at their table with plates and bowls galore. Soon, the small tabletop was brimming with large flat bowls of pasta and salad plates layered with leafy greens; all four glasses in front of Claire were full, wine and whisky and water warming her core. 

Claire didn’t immediately reach for her food, and Jamie smirked. “Tell me what yer thinkin’ about, right now. Don’t think, just answer!” 

“I’m thinking that I don’t know which of these fancy forks to kill myself with.” Silence, then roarous laughter. 

“I’m no’ sure what I expected ye to say, but for what it’s worth, I did consider the same the question. This is a hell of a spread!” 

Vaguely, Claire thought she should eat a little more food and drink a little less liquids, but the notion rolled passed her with another twirl of whisky in her mouth. Dinner continued to pass with much less fanfare and much more excitement and laughter and banter and all the things Claire thought a date should be. It wasn’t until she went to take another sip of her whisky that she noticed it was entirely empty. About to call for another, Jamie shushed her and brought a finger to his lips to stay quiet. She giggled, then remembering to stay quiet, brought her hands up to cover her mouth. Jamie looked around them conspiratorily and pulled a hip flask from his pocket. He poured a generous amount of what she presumed to be whisky back into her glass, and topped off his own. They continued this way, with mouthfuls of noodles and laugher and soft touches that grew more bold with each sip. 

“You know, the drunker you get, the more obvious you’re becoming with your thermos.” The waiter was standing before them, hands on his hips. 

“ Thermose? Thermasse? I'm sorry, I don't understand. What's a thermousse?” Jamie was trying his best to put on a serious front, but Claire’s giggles made his mouth spread from a smirk all the way to an honest to God grin. 

“That one. Right there in your hand.” 

“Oh, the thermas-eh?” Jamie patted the spot where the now-empty flask sat in his pocket. “For yer information, it’s a  _ hipflask _ and it’s actually quite stylish.” 

“Sir, I can’t have you in here, drinking liquor you bought from home.” 

“Och well if yer selection wasna grossly overpriced, that wouldna be an issue. But alas, I suppose it’s time for me to take my most lovely date and be on our way. To the next adventure!” The waiter looked as if he wanted to throw Jamie out of the restaurant himself but since they were apparently ready to be off into the night, he asked for his payment politely and returned in record time to usher them out the door. Jamie lent out a hand to Claire and twirled her into his side when she stood, her laughter filling the cozy space. 

“Sassenach, they’re all watchin’ us. Let’s get out of here, aye?” He whispered into her hair and he focused on not bumping into tables on their way out. The other patrons watched half in annoyance and half in good-natured smiles cast their way. 

“Ayeeeee!” Claire rolled her r’s as best she could and Jamie laughed so hard she could feel his chest reverberate against her back as she led him outside. 

Back in the park, Claire led him down brick paths and through lines of tall trees, and he followed her every move. She knew they were only minutes from her townhouse but reveled in the magic of the gardens at night alone with him. With Jamie. 

“I wrote it for you, you know,” she said quietly as she walked along the low brick wall lining the gardens. Jamie, down on the sidewalk, looked up confused. 

“Ye wrote what, lass?”

“The french song you heard today. I wrote that, last night. I couldn’t sleep.” 

Jamie stopped walking. When he turned to face Claire head-on, she came up a few inches above his head from standing on the low wall but felt incredibly small under his gaze. She fumbled with her dress and tried to take a step forward along the wall, but two strong hands held in place by the waist.” 

“Will ye tell me what ye wrote? What the words mean?” 

“I thought you said you spoke french.” 

“Aye, I did. But I was so entranced by ye when I saw ye in the shop, so surprised, that I forgot to actually listen and translate,” he smirked. “Please tell me?” 

She watched him for a moment.  _ Not yet. It’s too soon for that. _ She leaned in close, close enough to smell his cologne and see peak of ruddy stubble on his cheeks. He closed his eyes and his mouth fell open just a bit, and she whispered, “Not a chance.”

She jumped down from the wall past his grasp, strolling back down the brick path. Jamie stood stunned, shook his head, brushed back a few rogue curls, and jogged to catch up with her pace. 

* * *

They arrived back at Louisburg Square not more than ten minutes later. The night was getting late. Claire fidgeted with the hem of her dress, Jamie kept shrugging his shoulders in the black leather jacket, and they walked slower with each step. When it couldn’t be delayed any longer, they arrived at the brick steps to Claire’s porch. 

“So, this is me.” She turns to face him, to prolong this moment, this night. 

He smirked. “Aye, Sassenach. I remember.”

“Why do you call me that?” He cocked his head at her. “A sassenach, I mean.”

“Och, I mean no offense by it and can stop if ye’d like. It just means outlander, someone not from here.” 

“Here? It seems that here is Boston, and you’re not from here either!” She crossed her arms in mock admonishment. 

“That mebbe so, but I can’t help that being with you makes me feel like home,” he said as he took a step toward her. Her arms fell to her sides then, and Jamie reached for them in his. 

“Was that jus’ the most foolish thing to say? Shit, I jus’ keep making a right fool of myself around ye it seems. First the voicemails and now…” 

“I understand… exactly, how you feel.” She couldn’t look at him. It should be too soon to feel this way. He was a practically a stranger, and yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling something was different. As if he could read her mind, he replied with questions of his own. 

“Is it usual? What it is between us?” He watched her with such intensity, such revere, such awe. She met his eyes, and softened. 

“It’s often something like this, I think.” He nodded in agreement. “But no. This isn’t usual. It’s different.” He nodded again, seeming to memorize the pattern of the bricks on the sidewalk under their feet. “I guess that’s my queue… Thank you for a truly wonderful night, Jamie,” she dropped his hands and began to walk up the steps to her door when a strong arm pulled her back into a familiar warm embrace. 

“Claire, I--” he swallowed and took a step back from her. She noticed that in the distance he created, his hand still held onto her waist. His fingertips pressed into her flesh and goosebumps erupted under the fabric. She met his eyes and sank into their ocean depths. 

“I’d very much like to kiss ye. May I?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's HAPPENING!!! These sweet babies went on their first date! I figured based on what we know about them, they're both too down to earth for some fancy restaurant acting formal. The flask/thermos scene is based on Jess and Nick's date in New Girl where they get absolutely trashed in a very similar situation. Plus, it just seems like Jamie would be the kind of guy to have a flask on him, right? 
> 
> How are we feeling about these two? About the date? I'm so excited to get to the angsty part of this! I promise it's coming up soon. (Like, next chapter, soon). 
> 
> Thanks for being so patient with me while I was away enjoying post-deployment bliss with my husband! Writing wasn't on the top of my list, but it's good to be back! As always, thanks for reading. Your comments and kudos here and interactions on Tumblr really do mean so much to me and I really appreciate your support for this story and for me. Stay safe and healthy out there! <3


	7. Thistle & Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire end up in Claire's shop. More revelations, a mysterious phone call, and exchanged promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, SO sorry about the gap between chapters! I've been pretty sick over here, and just needed a break to get better. I'm feeling better and glad to be writing again!

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Claire Beauchamp’s front porch, a late October night, Louisburg Square, Beacon Hill, Boston

* * *

****

_ “Claire, I--” he swallowed and took a step back from her. She noticed that in the distance he created, his hand still held onto her waist. His fingertips pressed into her flesh and goosebumps erupted under the fabric. She met his eyes and sank into their ocean depths.  _

_ “I’d verra much like to kiss ye. May I?”  _

* * *

Words had never failed Claire before. She spent her free time letting sentences flow around her, wrapping her in warmth and comfort. Words were her solace and succor. When Jamie’s eyes flicked from her lips to her eyes in question _ ,  _ in  _ longing _ , any word she thought of failed her completely. She nodded quickly, for it was all she could manage in the moment. Whatever she had been expecting from Jamie, whatever she expected a first kiss to be like with the stranger who had enchanted her from their first meeting, whatever she expected failed in comparison. Jamie leaned forward, and steeled himself with a slow swallow. Claire watched his throat bob with the effort, and for the first time, wondered to herself how much power he was holding unchecked in the moment. There wasn’t time to think before he had regained his composure and moved closer into her. His clear blue eyes had darkened to the color of Claire’s favorite coastline, and her breath caught in her throat. The moment she met his eyes, everything faded away. There were no words, no chill in the late October air, no more spiraling thoughts… there was just Jamie. His woody cologne swirled together with the scent of fallen leaves on wet, worn bricks; their air mingled together, and it was happening. His mouth found purchase with hers, softly, tenderly. He tasted like a smoke-filled whisky and something so inexplicably  _ him _ . Had she been sober, she might have had the thought to hold back some, to not devour this man before her… but she wasn’t sober, and couldn’t have been with the intoxicating feel of him against her body and in her mouth. Her hands moved from his chest up his neck and into the curls at the nape of his neck. He moaned when her fingers moved upwards into his hair. “God, Claire…” His hands roamed around her waist and up the expanse of her back, down her ribcage and  _ almost _ to her arse, but pulled back to crush her to him instead. She moaned in protest and he laughed breathily as he whispered, “Ye have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to kiss ye like this.” Claire smiled through his returning kisses. An arm snaked around her waist while the other ran up the length of her spine. She was being greedy, she knew it, and couldn’t stop it. Her tongue softly ran along his lips and he nearly spasmed at the contact. Apparently one little tease was all the invitation he needed -- a hand was in her hair, his tongue was in her mouth, her body was crushed against the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. They were playing a dangerous game, the two of them, and she was ready to explode with the fire he set in her. 

“You’ll stay…?” He moved his mouth to her ear, nibbling her earlobe just a bit. “God, Jamie…” Hot breath from a small chuckle made her skin erupt in shivers. “You’ll stay? Tonight?” 

Stubble scratched her neck, soothed by wet kisses. “Hmmmm?” 

She drew his face back to hers in her hands and kissed him soundly. “Come upstairs with me, Jamie.” 

Navy orbs met dark gold ones in the glow of lamplight. He made for their mouths to meet again, but didn’t close his eyes. He released her finally, but kept a tight grip on her waist. “Yer so beautiful, Claire.” 

She felt her cheeks burn at his compliments. How did he do that to her? Just a few words, a pointed look, a whisper in her direction and she was absolutely melted. She reached for his hand and moved to open her door, but Jamie stayed rooted to the spot. 

“I cannae go inside wi’ ye tonight, mo nighean donn.” Surely she hadn’t heard him right.  _ Was he rejecting her? _ She dropped his hand and stepped back, turning toward the door to turn her key in the lock. 

_ What the fuck happens now?  _ Claire turned, stood up straight, and outstretched her hand. “Well, this really has been a great night. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?” She tried to keep the hurt off her face, but knew she was failing. 

Jamie looked at her hand like it was a foreign object, and stepped forward. He took her small hand in both of his and brought her knuckles to his lips. “Claire, ye have to know how much I want tae go inside with ye. God, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want ye in this moment. But lass, I don’t just want this moment… I want so much more with ye. The way I feel about ye, I know ye feel it, too. I’m not willing to let this get out of hand. Ye mean too much to me.  _ This,  _ means too much to me. I’m going to do this right, mo chridhe.” Claire’s whole body had felt warm with adrenaline moments before, but now it surged with affection for Jamie. “If ye wanted to kiss me like that again though, I wouldna complain one bit, though,” he added with a smirk breaking through his serious facade. 

Claire laughed in earnest and kissed him with all the passion she could muster. Her hand rested on his heart and it pounded faster with the seconds shared in their kiss. Before she was lost in him once again, she pulled away and he let out a strangled cry at the loss of her. His eyes hadn’t opened before she had completely extricated herself from him and had her front door open. “Goodnight, James!” she laughed. 

“You’ll be the death of me, Sassenach!” The door was closed before he had time to recompose himself. He sighed and ran a hand through his mussed curls. He absolutely stood by what he said about wanting to honor what they had, and he had not planned on following her to bed tonight. He wouldn’t treat this like it was disposable or quick. Then again… no lass had ever kissed him the way Claire Beauchamp did. Before he could knock on her door and beg her to let him in, he forced himself off the porch and down the sidewalk. One more look at her windows, one more second in place thinking about her, and he’d end up back in her arms tonight.  _ One day, lad. One day.  _

* * *

Jamie had mentioned he had to be at the bookshop the next day, and Claire had every intention of not bothering him at work. She had planned to answer a few emails and do some administrative work with a coffee and then head down to her own shop to work on propagating some of the rarer plants. She loaded her leather messenger bag with her laptop, notebook, writing notebook, an assortment of her favorite pens, and headed down the street. Twenty minutes and a large chai later, she aimlessly strolled toward her shop on Garden Street. She found herself drifting a few blocks south of the direction she should be headed in and a few blocks closer to Fraser Literature. Surely there was no harm in working at one of the tables in the courtyard at the bookshop, right? She wandered through the streets with a new purpose and was soon setting up shop at one of the familiar cafe tables outside her favorite shop. Had the store not been open today, she would have wasted the morning away there in the courtyard, letting the sun glow around her, warming her chilled surroundings. Alas, being a business owner was not exactly as freeing as someone may think and she had work to do. A while later, Claire was zoned-in on an email about variegated monstera deliciosa orders when a voice behind her nearly made her fall out of her chair. 

“Watcha working on today, Sassenach?” She clutched her chest and turned to see Jamie arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms, clearly pleased with his startling announcement of arrival. 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Jamie! Are you trying to give me a heart attack over here?” 

“Ach no, jes’ reveling in the fact that ye  _ clearly _ can’t get enough of me. Getting me drunk at dinner, encouraging puir decisions, the way ye kissed me last night, trying to get me into yer bed, and now, I find ye waiting for me outside my shop. I jes’ find it  _ interesting _ , is all.” 

“I was doing no such thing! This is just were I work! I’d been working here long before I knew this was your shop!” 

“Likely story, Sassenach.” Claire assumed he was trying to wink, but in much the same way an owl does, he just blinked both clear blue eyes at her and scrunched up his nose, making Claire snort in laughter at his attempt. 

“I do actually have to work, though, and now that I know you’re distracted, I should go so we both actually get something done today,” she said, and began to pack up her bags. 

“Tis a timely distraction, actually!” Jamie handed her a yellow notebook and raised his brows when he gestured throwing her empty drink in the trash. 

Claire nodded in response to the cup and continued to pack up. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“We’ve been getting some feedback from customers lately that they’re very much enjoying the ‘atmosphere’ of the store, and more and more people at checkout say they like all the plants hanging around! The boys and I were discussing taking that idea and running with it… kind of an arts experience, ken? The music, the books of course, and bring nature into it all. I’d like to add in some more plants, but dinna ken what would work best. Is there any way ye could help me figure it out? Maybe I could stop by your wee shop sometime and we could talk it out?” 

Claire swung her bag over her shoulder and smiled at Jamie’s nervousness in asking her for something so…  _ chill _ . “Of course you can stop by, Jamie! Actually, I’m headed there now, if you’d like to join?” His smile could have rivaled the sunshine for brightest thing in the courtyard. Claire waited inside the store’s entrance while Jamie told Angus and Rupert he’d be back in a while and noticed the way Jamie’s ears pinked at the tips when Angus leaned in to whisper something and Rupert playfully punched Jamie in the arm. She pretended to fuss with something on the bookshelf, but smiled to herself nonetheless. 

“Ready, Sassenach?” Jamie was waiting by her side a few moments later. It was Claire’s turn to beam up at him. 

“Always.” 

* * *

Thistle and Bloom was Jamie’s second-favorite place in all of Boston. It was the word “thistle” that had originally drawn him into the shop shortly after moving to the city. It reminded him of home, of the Highlands, and of all the things that just felt like home. He had met the redhead behind the counter a handful of times, always hearing the owner was out back working, or gone searching for herbs, or otherwise occupied. He and Geillis had become friendly over the years, and the other lads had become _more_ _than friendly_ with her on more than one occasion. It was Geillis that had invited them all out to karaoke, and he would forever be grateful for how fate had worked in his life. Geillis, this shop, his bookstore, Scotland… all of it played a part in getting him here today, with Claire. 

They approached the storefront and Claire absolutely beamed with pride. The outside of the shop was ornate for Boston, but beautiful. The building was brick, with a white-washed wood first story with large arched windows. Painted with forest green on the arches of the facade, a heavy naturally-stained wood had the name of the wee shop painted in gold lettering, and a heavy carved thistle painted in gold sat as the crowning jewel in the signage. English ivy crawled and sprawled up the planters on the sidewalk and up the white wood over the green arches and up the antique brick. Whisky barrels sat in front of the windows exploding with blooms in modern arrangements, like they had truly come to life in the most whimsical and elegant way. Now knowing it was Claire behind it all, everything made sense. He thumbed a rogue branch of the ivy, it’s Englishness not lost on him. Inside the store, Jamie saw it all with fresh eyes. 

Jamie was a fair gardener -- truth be told, he hadn’t needed explicit help in finding the right plants for his store, but he’d near say anything to spend time with Claire. She nervously showed him around, occasionally muttering the scientific name of a houseplant or remarking about the rarity of another under her breath. Only once did she catch one yellowing leaf on something that trailed up the wall, and she plucked it off and shoved it in her jeans pocket. Jamie shook his head in exasperation at her --  _ didn’t she know, everything she did was perfect? _ They continued their little tour and examined every plant in the store for Jamie’s needs. Jamie occasionally hummed or nodded in agreement of Claire’s assessment of the plants, but he knew she really wasn’t talking to him. Sometimes, she’d look at Jamie or ask for his opinion on a plant, but otherwise, she existed in her own little world. Claire had amassed a collection of medium-sized plants on the counter she assured him wouldn’t be too much work but would flourish with his attention, and turned the most brilliant shade of pink when she caught sight of him watching her work. 

Seeing that the shop was empty for the moment, Jamie moved in toward Claire. Watching her like this, in her element, so happy, he just wanted to kiss her again. Just steps away from her, she turned to him, smiling. One more step until bliss… 

Jamie jumped. His phone rang loudly from his pocket. Rushing to silence it, he pulled it out of his pocket to a blonde woman’s smiling face on the Caller ID. He shut off the ringer and looked for Claire. She was shuffling plants at the counter, not really rearranging anything but trying to make herself busy nonetheless.  _ Ifrinn. She saw the damned phone.  _

“So, Claire…” he was interrupted by a voicemail notication. He ignored it. “I was wondering if ye grow these plants yerself, or…” another loud beep followed by another indicated he was getting texts at a rapid pace. “Jesus, fuck!”

“If you need to get that, it’s really fine, Jamie!” Claire was trying for a breezy tone and failing miserably. She’d seen the beautiful woman on the phone. They never said they were exclusive or anything, it was awfully presumptuous of her to assume that in the  _ two days _ they’d known each other, that he didn’t have any other ties. She was spiraling but a warm, steady hand brought her back down to reality. 

“I dinna need to do anything, Sassenach. Nothing matters to me now except for being here with ye.” He gave her a reassuring smile, and with only the briefest hesitation to make sure she was caught up with his feelings, he kissed her chastley. “Now, I was asking how ye came to amasse such a small jungle.” 

Claire smiled adoringly at Jamie, pushing any nagging thoughts about the mysterious caller to the side. “I’d like to show you something, if you can be away for a little while longer,” Claire said. Jamie nodded and followed her when she went out the back door of the shop. 

Instead of finding a back door leading to an alleyway or a small yard, Jamie stepped into pure light. A white wooden door with paned glass led the way into the most beautiful greenhouse Jamie had ever seen. It was a few small rooms, each terraced with a few cement steps leading into the next. Slowly walking through, Jamie noticed each tiny room was a different biome: one for tropical plants, one for houseplants, one for cacti and sand-dwelling plants, and one with plants he’d never seen before. The windows were probably once crystal clear, but now the glass was clouded with condensation and moss in the corners. The cream paint on the window and door panes was chipping away in places, and the floor was covered in loose dirt and a few errant leaves. Everything was diffused light and shades of green and white and warm air. It was warm inside and Jamie wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead. He turned to Claire, who stood in the far corner, awaiting judgment like a child. She smiled shyly, hugging herself and leaning against a potting bench. Her hair was conspiring with the humidity to add more curls to her head at an alarming rate, and she looked like the queen of her own personal Jumanji. Jamie had never seen a more ethereal sight in his life. 

“Ye know, I always come here when I miss home,” he held a leaf the size of his own head in his hand and made his way along the rows of flora as he continued. “Scotland is  _ so _ green, ken? I think it’s the thing I miss most. The traditions there are so old but it’s so green and fresh and new out in the moors and the lochs and munros. This shop, yer shop,” he smiled at her, “it always felt the way I felt about being home in Scotland.” 

“Have I told you I grew up in Scotland?” 

Jamie’s head snapped up at that. “Ye said ye were from Oxford?” 

She nodded. “Yes, originally. I went to school in Oxford, and Oxford was where I thought I’d build my life. Actually though, in between travelling with my uncle, we’d always end up in Scotland. My uncle had a place in Glenfinnan?” Jamie’s jaw dropped. “I take it you know the place?” 

“Aye! I’m from Inveraray!” 

“I’ll jot that down in the list of things we have in common!” She laughed. “Anyways, he had a croft up there and we’d go all the time. It’s mine now, but I haven’t had time to make it back there after opening up shop here in Boston. Scotland holds a very special place in my heart, though. All the important moments in my life happened in the Highlands: my best birthdays, my first kiss, my biggest adventures, it’s where I went when I left my ex, when my uncle died…” Jamie came to her, stroking her arm when he saw her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “The highlands always felt wild and peaceful and magical to me. I wanted to have a slice of that here. It’s obviously for work, too, but this… this is my favorite place. My oasis. It feels…” 

“Like heaven,” Jamie finished. The moment he said it, he almost wished he could take it back not because he didn’t mean it, but because it really did feel like heaven here with  _ her. _

“Like heaven,” she repeated. He found her staring longingly at him, and he couldn’t help it then. He kissed her with as much admiration as he could possibly muster in a kiss, and it still didn’t feel like enough when she drew back for air. 

“Having you here with me, in this place… This is more than I could have ever hoped for.” 

“Make me a promise, Sassenach?” 

Claire was puzzled. She brought him into her very favorite place, and he’s asking for random promises right now? “Yes, Jamie?”

“Promise me we’ll end up in Scotland together. I’ll take ye up the munros and down in the lochs and we’ll laugh and drive and get caught up in sheep herds together. We’ll drink ‘til we cannae walk we’ll talk about how the universe conspired to get us here. Me and you, mo nighean donn. Promise ye’ll let me follow ye around the world and back to the place we both love. Promise me that one day, we’ll get back there together.” 

Despite knowing Jamie for such a short time, despite the day that was supposed to be a fun, non-committal one picking out plants, Claire found herself swimming in the depths of his ocean eyes with no plan to get out and dry off. Despite the rational part of her brain telling her she should not be making plans so soon, she saw an entire lifetime in his face. Maybe it was the ethereal atmosphere, maybe it was that he made her drunk on his presence alone, maybe it was magic that made her match his eyes and say, “Scotland it is. I’ll follow you anywhere.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST KISS FIRST KISS FIRST KISS! While the story started out with Jamie being the one completely head over heels, Claire's finding herself pretty enamored as well. After all, Claire taking Jamie into the greenhouse was a big step for her in trusting someone. 
> 
> So, what was that call about??? I know I know, I left it pretty ambiguous (although I'm positive you can figure out who it was lol). It'll be coming back, it's not smooth sailing for these bairns. But for now, things are VERY fluffy over here. Oh, and some smut is coming up soon, sooooooo, get ready. 😈
> 
> Thank you again for reading! All of your comments and kudos mean the world to me! Can't wait to keep the story going for you!


	8. Theories and Scones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire, Geillis, and Joe theorize Claire's relationship with Jamie, and why something's missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick chapter today, but I promise it's leading up to a juicy one! 
> 
> You can follow me over on Twitter @badbitbeauch and tumblr at @bad-bitch-beauchamp.

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Claire’s bedroom, a cold morning in early December, Louisburg Square, Beacon Hill, Boston 

* * *

Two months had passed since Claire and Jamie met at the 21st Amendment. In two months, their relationship went into hyperspeed. With every revelation of how they had just missed each other not just in Boston, but all over the world for decades now, they fell harder for each other. What started as one packed weekend with karaoke, a drunken dinner, a late night walk in the park, and visits to each other’s respective businesses, they found themselves starving for more connection. In the time they could get away from the demanding schedules of being small business owners, they were with each other. The pressure of dating someone new and needing to impress one another quickly gave way to the comfort of takeout meals, board games, and Jamie’s cooking at one of their townhouses. Jamie told her of his home in Scotland and his adventures bagging munros all through college, Claire recounted stories of traveling all over the world with her uncle, and they filled in the blanks of their lives together. Time together was easy, natural. The way a good relationship is supposed to feel. Every Saturday night since the one they’d met, they’d wander the few blocks over to the 21st Amendment to meet Geillis, Joe, Rupert, and Angus for karaoke. Only once did they miss their standing date, and only just: Claire was ready to open the door to the bar when Jamie pulled her back in a whirl and kissed her senseless for the next thirty minutes around the corner. There was only one thing missing from their relationship now… 

On a rare morning she wasn’t at the shop or with Jamie, Claire was engaging in a time-honored tradition with her two best friends. Joe and Geillis were Claire’s go-to advisers on everything in her life. They were the only two people in the world to tell her she should leave Frank and move to Boston. They were the two people to tell her she should start her greenhouse and plant shop. They were the two people who convinced her to continue writing music. They were her everything this morning, they were trying their best to convince her of what everyone but her seemed to see in her budding relationship with one James Fraser. Joe had worked a long shift at the hospital and was calling into the girl’s discussion from his car. Claire had been tossing and turning on her bed while Geillis laid with her back on the floor and legs up against the bed, snacking on scones she brought from the bakery down the block. English breakfast and catching up had been the group’s little routine since they were all in school in Oxford. No matter what the week held, they’d set aside an hour (that inevitably morphed into all morning and most of the afternoon) to sit around, relax, and eat. When Claire and Geillis moved to the states, they continued the tradition. When Joe moved to Boston to work at the hospital, their group was reunited and English breakfast Sundays felt right again. Even when one of them couldn’t make the physical date, they always had at least a few minutes to shove down some kind of British snack and catch up. The conversations ranged from old classmates to how the Americans ruin tea (Joe objected to this, but always agreed in the end), and today’s topic landed squarely on Claire’s relationship with Jamie. 

“So things really are going well then?” Joe asked from the phone screen in Claire’s hand. 

“For as quickly as things started, yes. Things are going more than well, I think,” Claire responded. 

“It’s obvious the lad is crazy about ye -- his eyeballs may as weel be superglued to ye every time we go out. It’d be disgusting if it weren’t sweet how he hangs on yer every word,” Geillis offered. 

“I think you mean his eyes are glued to Claire’s _ass_ , friend,” Joe cut in, making the girls giggle. 

“I cannae imagine how good that man is in bed,” Geillis sighed. Claire shifted to her stomach, facing the end of the bed when Geillis sat and propper her elbows up to cradle her chin. “Speaking of, it’s been over two months since ye two got together, and we’ve still yet to hear the juicy details!” 

The wheels in Claire’s head spun quickly to try to play off her increasing anxiety to answer. “Details about what?” 

Geillis scoffed loudly and Joe laughed through the phone. “Oh come on, you know _exactly_ what!” Joe teased. 

“Ye cannae possibly tell me that a man like Jamie Fraser is not an absolute god. Jes’ look at him! And the way he looks at ye, like he wants to _devour ye_ … after that night of dancing at the 21st a few weeks back, I can imagine what that big, strong body can do and I’m dying for the details!” Claire threw a pillow down at Geillis, laughing at her friend. 

“Use your own imagination! I see you go home with Angus more nights than not!” 

“And Angus is more than fine, but that’s no’ what we’re discussing here! Plus, Angus doesna have the same… _everything_ Jamie has about him!”

“Come on Claire, spill! We’re dying over here and it’s been two whole months now!” Joe practically begged. 

“Unless,” Geillis scooted up to Claire on the bed, sitting cross legged across from her and her garden green eyes boring into Claire, “they haven’t _had_ sex yet. Mebbe there’s nothing to tell?” Geillis continued to search her friend’s reddening face. 

“Alright, fine! Are you happy?” Claire threw her hands up in resignation. “It’s been weeks of dates and late nights and practically all our free time spent together, but still nothing!” It was no secret to her friends that Claire had enjoyed her fair share of men since they’d known her. Traveling the world with her uncle had provided her with a slew of fascinating new people: her first kiss was at age twelve in Cairo on an expeditionary dig, her first time having sex was in Thailand with a boy who’s father worked with her uncle, and the names of lovers and crushes littered her diaries in the years between. In college, the friends had embarked on a backpacking trip across Europe where all three had their share of fun, but none so much as Claire. For her, embracing her sexuality made her feel empowered, desirable, powerful. Once she met Frank, everything changed -- through constant beratement, displeasure at her body, and emotional abuse, she no longer felt that same sense of power she’d long found within herself. Geillis and Joe had tried to set her up again in Boston, but Claire resigned herself to her work. The hurt from Frank had made it too difficult to be in bed with anyone else. _I’ll be ready again when the right person comes along,_ she’d told them. 

“Ye mean to tell me ye haven’t shagged the brains out of that man?” Geillis asked, shocked. “If it were me, I would’ve had him under me _ages_ ago!” 

“It’s not that I haven’t tried,” Claire sighed. “Jamie’s the first person I’ve wanted to be with since Frank. I’ve tried to move things along when we’re together, but he always puts a stop to it and I honestly don’t know why.” 

“Puts a stop to it, how?” Joe questioned. “Because god knows it isn’t that he doesn’t want you. Anyone with eyes can see how head over heels he is with you.” 

“The only way I can describe it is that he almost… panics?” Claire shrugged. “I mean, I guess we haven’t had the “are we exclusive” conversation yet, and there’s this girl that always pops up on his phone.”

“Want me to beat her up for ye?” Geillis casually asked, stuffing her face with another scone. 

“Christ, Geillis, I don’t even know that she’s a threat! It’s just a small thing I’ve noticed. It’s not like he’s hiding his phone or anything, so I’m sure it’s not a big deal, but…” 

“But you are a _little_ worried about it,” finished Joe. 

“Fine. A little. Maybe that’s why he always shuts me down.” 

“Here’s what ye do: ye just need to ask him about it. Point blank. There’s something he’s not telling ye, and it’s either that he’s got some girl on the hook, or he’s a virgin or something. There’s literally nae other reason to have ye by now,” Geillis offered. 

“We’re supposed to meet up for dinner at his place tonight… I think you’re right. It’s time to figure out what’s going on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, we had a little bit of a time jump here! I made a creative choice to move up a bit, so hopefully, you don't feel like you missed out on anything! I'm halfway done with the next chapter, so it'll be posting soon! As always, thank you for reading! All your comments on the last chapter mean the world to me, and I'm so grateful for you all. Happy reading!


	9. Whisky & Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dinner is had, Claire shares a page from her notebook, and the truth comes out.

**CHAPTER NINE**

Jamie’s kitchen, mid-evening, early December, Louisburg Square, Beacon Hill, Boston

* * *

Jamie poured a few more fingers of Glenfiddich 12 into both of the tumblers on the counter and set down the bottle. He’d bought the bottle the first night Claire had come to his townhouse, hoping she’d notice how he’d pay attention to the detail about her escape in Scotland. She had noticed, of course, and rewarded him with a windfall of kisses. It was the night she’d learned he had been her neighbor for longer than they’d known each other, and the whisky served as just another reminder of their close connection. That night had followed Jamie into his dreams that night. Dreams, of Claire. After that night, he’d made sure to always have a bottle of Glenfiddich on hand for repeat performances. Tonight, he was hoping for more of the same. 

“... Can ye believe it, Sassenach! I mean, every party with those two is a wild one but this one -- Christ! -- it was really something else!” Jamie was sitting at his island barstool facing her, but Claire’s mind was a thousand miles away. 

“Hm? Oh yes, I’m sure it was a fun time. What happened next?” she asked absently.

Jamie furrowed his brows for just a moment and watched while she took a rather large drink from her glass. “Weel, that was mostly the end of the story, ken,” he replied. 

She nodded slowly and took another large drink. “Yer not usually a closed-mouthed woman, Claire,” he sighed. “Care to share what yer thinking about? Something’s clearly eating ye up over there.” When she didn’t replied, he grinned and added, “Yer thoughts are sae loud I can nearly here them from way over here.” 

That got a small smile from her at last. As she opened her mouth to finally spill her words all over him, a loud vibration buzzed from Jamie’s phone on the quartz counter. Without needing to look, Claire knew exactly what was about to happen: a cute blonde face would light up the screen, Jamie would silence the phone, and it would be shoved out of sight. Refusing to see it happen again, Claire blurted out, “Are you seeing someone else?” 

Jamie’s hand, reaching toward the phone, settled back into his lap. “Am I what?” 

“We never did have the “we’re exclusive” conversation, so it’s really not a big deal if you are.” Seeing his confused expression she continued. “I mean, you’re a grown man, you can do what you want, and who am I to stop you?” 

“Who are ye to me?” Jamie quietly muttered, more to himself than to her. 

“...It’s so often, and I wouldn’t mind, but it seems like a lie by omission, and after my ex, I don’t do lying. Secrets, but not lies. It’s been two months together and I really like this, Jamie. If you’re going in a different direction than me, it’s cool, I just need to know because that’s really not what I’m trying to do here and honestly, I thought we were on the same page with what we wanted…” 

“Claire, wait--”

“...and I thought we were making plans together and if that’s not what you want, I want to readjust. Actually, I’d rather get out of it altogether…”

“Sassenach--”

“I’m just going to go, okay? Thanks for dinner, it’s been really fun. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Claire rambled. In the span of two minutes, she’d gone from complete silence to packing up her purse and heading to the entryway to the front door. Before she could reach the handle, a strong hand gripped her upper arm and spun her around. Crystal blue eyes burned into her. 

“I’m no’ letting ye go until I explain. Then, you can make yer choice. I will no’ make ye stay, but I hope ye’ll wait around to listen to me. Just for a moment.” She shuffled on the floor, trying to look anywhere but at him. “Please, Claire. Please don’t go yet.” There was something in his voice, a  _ pleading _ , that made her completely unable to walk away from him. She nodded, and followed him back to the barstools. 

“I’m sorry if you feel like I misled ye, a nighean. Ye deserve only the truth, so ye’ll have it. The calls are from my friend Annalise.” Claire’s head snapped, eyes narrowed. “I take it ye remember her. Yes, my ex. She’s going through a terrible breakup with her boyfriend Charlie, and now that so many of us have left Scotland for here, she’s really feeling alone. Even though we dated, we’ve always considered each other verra good friends. She’s needed someone, and I’m trying to be there for her now, like she’s been for me.” Claire’s look softened, but only slightly. “Please, Claire. Ye have to believe I’d never hide anything from ye. She’s nothing more than a friend tae me.” He held both her hands in his tentatively, lest she tried to pull back. 

“Why did you hide her from me? I’d never keep you from a friend, but Jamie, you have to understand. She’s a beautiful woman, and you were acting secretive, and--” 

“Please dinna mistake dedication for secretiveness.”

“Dedication?” 

“Aye. Dedication to ye. To our relationship. To our time together. Annalise is special to me, but nothing is as important tae me as you, Claire. Nothing. I’m trying my best to be a good friend for her, but nothing compares to ye. I don’t pick up the phone because I don’t want to take up my time with ye away on the phone. I didna consider how it must look to ye. Please know, ye are  _ everything _ , to me.”

Claire blinked, trying to absorb the weight of what he’d told her. Still trying to process his admission and fighting through the fog of more than a few whiskies, a quiet but steady voice pulled her from her reverie. 

“Yer face is my heart, Sassenach, and the love of you is my soul. Ye cannae tell by now?”

Her brow furrowed.  _ Surely he didn’t say that. He didn’t mean that. He couldn’t have.  _ Slowly, she moved her eyes from her hands in his up his chest, to his heartbeat pounding in his throat, to clear blue eyes. 

“You… you love me?” 

The edge of his mouth quirked up and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “Aye, I do. I’ve wanted ye from the moment ye fell into me at the bar, and I’ve loved ye since I found ye sitting in my shop, singing yer wee songs with the sunlight hitting ye from behind. I loved ye then, and I’ve loved ye every day since then. I loved ye then, and I love ye now, Claire.” He stood from his seat and stepped closer, bringing her to her feet. “I love you. No one else. I loved ye yesterday, today, tomorrow… as long as ye’ll have me, I will love you.” 

Not for the first time, words were failing Claire. Whether it was hearing that  _ Jamie Fraser loved her _ or the whisky, she couldn’t tell. Her eyes finally fell to his chest, brow still furrowed. Everything around her was heavy: the weight of his words, the alcohol in her veins, the scent of him so close to her -- all ocean spray and damp earth and old books -- looming over her, an arm draped around her wait and one in her hair… everything was so heavy.  _ Breathe, Beauchamp.  _ Finally having the confidence to face him yet again, she prepared to lay her feelings bare just has he had moments before. Meeting his eyes, she found apprehension.  _ He thinks he said something wrong. He thinks he overstepped.  _

“Wait here.” She left a stunned Jamie in the kitchen and ran back to the front door when she left her purse. Returning with a black leather notebook in hand, she thumbed through the pages. Jamie watched in confused wonderment while she searched for something in particular. Finding what she was looking for, she handed the book to him. With a sigh, he sat back on the tall stool to read what was so important to her. 

Scribbled on two adjacent pages were words scrawled in black ink. On the left, a column of French words strung together in Claire’s hand: 

_ Je te laisserai des mots _

_ En-dessous de ta porte  _

_ En-dessous de la lune qui chante _

_ Tout près de la place où tes pieds passent _

_ Cachés dans les trous d’un temps d’hiver _

_ Et quand tu es seule pendant un instant…  _

_ Embrasse-moi, _

_ Quand tu voudras _

_ Embrasse-moi, _

_ Quand tu voudras _

_ Embrasse-me,  _

_ Quant tu voudras.  _

On the second page, with a few words scribbled out and replaced, lay another column: 

_ I will leave you words _

_ Under your door,  _

_ Below the singing moon _

_ Near the place where you pass by _

_ Hidden in the hole of wintertime _

_ And when you’re alone  _

_ For a moment _

_ Kiss me _

_ Whenever you want _

_ Kiss me  _

_ Whenever you want  _

_ Kiss me _

_ Whenever you want.  _

A clear line of tears shimmered on red lashes, blue eyes became clearer. “You love me, too.” Blue sky met whisky. He stood, discarding the notebook on the counter. “Ye love me.” He couldn’t look away and continued toward her. He took her hands in his for the second time, searching her face for any sign of misunderstanding, finding none when she tearfully smiled and slowly nodded her affirmation. “Ye love me, too…?” 

“Aye,” trying her best Scottish imitation, “I do.” 

Seeing the honesty, the vulnerability, in her eyes, he kissed her.  _ No, not kissed. Absolutely devoured.  _ He held her face in his large hands, cradling her against him. “Tell me.”

She leaned into the force of him, closing her eyes for just a moment. When she opened them to watch him, she hoped he could read her face as easily as he always said he could. Her hand covered his, and she smiled. “James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

His eyes danced over her face, memorizing her features in this moment. “Christ, Claire,” a single tear ran down his stubbled cheek. “To hear ye say it, it’s… it’s more than I ever imagined.”

She let out a trembling sigh, stroking his face, the path of his single tear with her thumb. His stare traveled downward in thought, meeting hers again in question. “The song from the shop, the one in French,” Claire smiled shyly, letting her gaze drop to the floor, and back up at him through wet lashes. “Is it… is that the one that…” 

“I said I wrote about you sometimes,” she admitted, a smile unbidden breaking free from the corners of her mouth. “Do you like it?” 

“Do I… Do I like it?” He wondered at this woman before him, in complete awe. “Aye, I love it. Nearly as much as I love you, mo chridhe.” Unable to hold himself back from her, he feverishly kissed her. A hand in her hair, an arm snaked around her waist, she was positively crushed to him. Claire moaned into his kisses, seeking purchase of him with her mouth. He only held her tighter with each kiss. Claire searched to bring them closer yet, but Jamie pulled away first. Breaking for air, he cupped her face gently, and stared into the face he’d treasure, he’d  _ love _ , for the rest of his days. “You are everything, to me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're in looooooove! I'm so excited to share this chapter, and so excited for you to read it! Just so everyone knows, the next chapter earns this story's rating. 👀🔥🔥🔥
> 
> If you'd like to hear's Claire's song, it's Je Te Laisserai Des Mots, sung by Patrick Watson. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! Grateful to you all!


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